


Of the Wolf

by spookyknight



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Badass!Rose, Character Death, Dark, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Graphic Violence, Survival
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-25
Updated: 2014-02-04
Packaged: 2017-12-06 10:13:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 26,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/734509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookyknight/pseuds/spookyknight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor loses Rose on an inhospitable planet. When he finally reaches her almost a year later, the woman he finds is not the same one that was left behind. With no family or home left for her on Earth, he alone must piece together the horrors of her survival during their time apart if he ever hopes to get back the Rose Tyler he remembers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Playing the new Lara Croft origins game inspired a ‘Tomb Raider’ meets ‘The Girl Who Waited’ story that’s a little bit ‘Arrow’ and a little bit ‘Voyage of the Damned.’ This tale brings out the darker elements of Rose’s proverbial Wolf. Strap in for a bumpy ride - literally. Thanks to beta lastincurableromantic.

  

_This is the story of how I died._

* * *

 

These days, the Doctor couldn't really be sure to what extent Rose was aware of the passage of relative time. He knew, even if she did not, that as of tomorrow it had been a year since Torchwood One foolishly ripped open the hole in the Void with the Ghost Shift program. A year since they had saved the Earth from both the Daleks and Cybermen but lost Jackie Tyler and Mickey Smith to a parallel universe. On that day, Rose severed the last of her ties to the planet of her birth and the TARDIS became her new home for good. No turning back.

With all the adventures they had experienced in the meantime, he couldn't be sure if his companion was dwelling on the anniversary of her loss. Even so, the Doctor remembered the milestone well. He wanted to do something nice for her, to put her mind in a peaceful place if she was, in fact, missing her mother.

The companion in question lumbered into the console room, freshly showered and changed. He had become an expert over their travels together at not noticing the way her still damp hair fell around her face or the subtle scent of a new shampoo, though it had become increasingly difficult the closer they became.

Every lingering embrace and flirtatious smile chipped away a little bit at his resolve to keep their relationship from progressing into more intimate territory. With every passing day they wavered along the already blurry line between friends and lovers. So far, he had retained a modicum of plausible deniability in that regard, which was an accomplishment all things considered.

"We've landed," Rose stated bluntly.

He nodded in confirmation. "That we have."

She stretched her arms far above her head and yawned widely. Even after breakfast she was still just waking up. He was sure it had nothing to do with their late night spent pretending to read, but actually just snuggling and chatting, in the library. Must just be humans and their incessant need for sleep.

"Where we goin' today?" she asked, approaching the console to stand beside him.

The Doctor flashed her a bright smile. "You, Dame Rose, are the lucky recipient of an invitation to board the Capricorn Cruise Liner Concordia on its first voyage sailing the Great Ocean of the planet Amalfi Six."

She returned with a cheeky grin of her own. "This 'invitation' wouldn't happen to be printed on psychic paper, would it?"

"Hmm. Could be," he said, throwing in a wink for good measure. "There just may be a big blue box stashed away in the cargo hold."

"Am I under-dressed?" she wondered aloud, twirling as she examined her current attire.

Of course, leave it to Rose to bring attention to the way the denim of her jeans clung to her hips and her tailored bomber-style jacket followed the dips and curves of her figure. She had always embraced the concept of wearing practical, though decidedly form-fitted, clothing for their adventures and he wasn't about to discourage it in favor of strappy heels and short skirts.

"Nope. You're perfect," he affirmed distractedly, downplaying the affectionate implications of the statement even as he made it. "Shall we, then?"

He proffered his arm and she threaded hers through. They cheerfully exited the TARDIS to greet the day's adventure, effectively attached at the elbow.

* * *

Any hope that this was a semi-romantic respite for just the two of them flew out the window when the Doctor started gabbing with the crew about the mechanics of the vessel and its planned itinerary. He started off introducing her to the first few passengers they encountered, but when he got swept up she drifted to the edge of the ballroom alone.

It was inevitable once he found out this was the very first sub-orbital dual-propulsion ship in Capricorn's fleet, capable of traveling both in space as well as in the atmosphere of most planets. According to a particularly knowledgeable crewman, they were currently hovering ten feet  _above_  the water's surface and sailing at a leisurely rate of 10 knots to exhibit the scenery, though the ship could easily maintain 35 without disrupting the local environment. It seemed the more the Doctor learned about the ship, the more he wanted to know.

His current mark was a cocktail waitress named Sarah. Another gorgeous, impressionable natural blonde who was throwing him doe eyes and giggling at every nautical joke or pun he managed to fit into the conversation. Rose had foolishly hoped he'd abandoned the habit of shamelessly flirting right in front of her after the fallout from a certain French king's mistress. But now it looked like this was a routine that was here to stay.

She had made her choice long ago, even if it meant she would always be nothing more than last year's model. Still, it was frustrating to watch him flaunt his rejection of her affections right in front of her face. She had promised him forever. Gave up a life with a reunited, if parallel, family to stay by his side. What else did he want?

To make matters worse, it turned out Rose  _was_  under-dressed. The passengers of the luxury cruise ship were dressed to the nines and she wanted to kick him for yet again letting her stand out from the crowd and appear as a lower sort from the company they were keeping. Just once, she wished he wouldn't categorize her with the maids and the food service workers. She wanted to cavort with the important people like he did, effortlessly blending in and becoming the center of attention.

Rose stared absently out the large bay window as she vaguely listened to the ship's historian prattle on about Amalfi Six. He was talking about the first human colonization of the planet centuries ago and how the settlement was abandoned due to the severe electrical storms that rocked the archipelago of Campania, the only land masses in the planet's vast ocean. He went on to talk about New Earth which at least gave her an idea of the current year.

The island in her view was apparently called Secapri, after the island of Capri on Earth. It was truly beautiful and fit with her mental image of a paradise. Crystal blue waters gave way to dusky pink sand at the shoreline. The lush vegetation was mostly purple, where on Earth she'd imagine green, with a smattering of what she thought were colorful fruits and flowers. Above the forest rose two stark white crags with rocky columns that resembled grand Roman pillars stretching up toward the cobalt sky.

It was the sort of place she wished the Doctor would take her, secluded and dazzling. The longer she stayed with him, the more he seemed to avoid being alone with her. Besides the quiet moments together on the TARDIS, their recent adventures always involved a rotating cast of characters whom the Doctor was always busy befriending. She wondered if he was growing tired of her already.

Rose startled from her thoughts when Doctor finally deigned to join her.

"Having fun?" she muttered, not bothering to disguise the annoyance in her tone.

"Oh yes," he chirped excitedly, seemingly oblivious to her ire. "Aren't you?"

"Champagne's nice," she replied airily, lifting her half empty glass in demonstration.

Before their awkward conversation could devolve further, the ship jolted sharply, sending Rose into the Doctor's arms for balance and her precious champagne splashing around their knees.

She groaned in exasperation. "Oh, what now?"

Rose didn't understand why they couldn't have just one trip when things didn't go monumentally wrong. She righted herself and shook her dampened shin with a discouraged huff.

"Just a little turbulence," he dismissed easily. "Nothing to worry about."

As if on cue, there was a thundering clang and the boat lurched again a little more violently, sending them both spilling to the ground like so many bumpy landings on the TARDIS. Only now, they weren't laughing. He helped her up gingerly, avoiding the shards of her broken champagne glass, even as he glanced around them at the mounting chaos.

"Stay here," he commanded automatically.

She balked. "What? No, I'm coming with you."

He placed his hands securely on her shoulders. "Rose, someone has to keep these people calm. That's you," he explained hastily. "Now stay here and I'll be back in a tic."

Without another word he disappeared through the throng of people swarming the steward for information about the apparent crash. In the commotion, some of the people the Doctor was speaking with earlier gravitated toward Rose.

"Where's he going?" a polished man she remembered as Ridgely demanded.

"To help," Rose confirmed stiffly. "The Doctor, he - he knows about this sort of stuff."

His wife Erin looked worried. "Did he know something was wrong?"

Rose shook her head. "No, I don't think so."

"You're his girlfriend," the illustrious blond Sarah assumed politely.

"Yeah," Rose answered, a white lie born of misguided hope and possibly misplaced jealousy.

Sarah nodded resolutely. "Well, he wouldn't leave you behind unless it was going to be okay."

Rose smiled warily in response. She wished she shared the waitress's confidence. The steward and several midshipmen were trying to gain control of the situation but Rose's attention turned outside to the darkening sky. Black inky storm clouds had appeared from nowhere when just moments before the sky had been nearly clear.

* * *

The Doctor tried valiantly to make his way to the bridge, but the effort seemed in vain. Another sharp jolt of the ship made him realize he wouldn't make it in time. Frantic passengers were seeking out crew members for answers. Fortunately, even billions of years after twenty-first century Earth, people still wanted to talk to a friendly face rather than a machine. Especially in times of emergency. That left a nearby information console free for him to sonic at will.

In his haste, he discovered several things. Some clever - evil, but oh, so very clever - saboteur had disabled the safety protocol and set the compression ratio in the engines to increase exponentially, resulting in almost inevitable auto-ignition and complete engine failure, not to mention catastrophic damage to the ship. And someone, presumably that same evil, clever saboteur, had jettisoned an escape capsule right after the first impact. That someone was looking for something on Amalfi Six, something either very precious or very dangerous, and was taking great pains to make sure no one else could follow.

Armed with this disturbing information, the Doctor searched the panicked mob around him for an authority figure who could help him act on it. He caught sight of the engineering insignia on the uniform of a passing crew member and pounced.

"You. You're in engineering."

"Please, sir. I don't have time - "

"The engines," the Doctor insisted brashly. "They've been damaged. We have to get everyone -"

"There's been an electromagnetic disturbance," the engineer said, cutting him short. "We're just on the edge of monsoon season and it's kicked up this nasty storm."

"Electromagnetic disturbance? What could've caused that?" the Doctor was silent for a moment, introspecting. "Was it - no, couldn't be."

An explosion from the stern shook the whole of the ship. The boat rocked backward severely. There was a spattering impact, confirming the stern had been knocked from the air into the water, followed by the sickening crack of ruptured metal. Rose. He had to get back to Rose. In the havoc of flickering lights, screaming passengers, and a swiftly tilting cruise liner, the Doctor ran.

After a blur of narrow passageways and corridors, he finally saw her across the ballroom. Wearing a matching expression of relief, she dashed forward to meet him.

Before they could reunite, the floor beneath them tore apart suddenly with a ghastly sound. The ballroom windows shattered, wooden floorboards splintered, and the outer metal bulkhead groaned and buckled under the pressure. The entire ship was breaking apart in the space between them.

Rose was lucky. She stopped just short of the gap and shot him a desperate look through the cascade of rain pouring in from the mangled ceiling. Inconceivably high waves lapped at the hull of the ship all around them. Frigid air and water filled the room and she stood frozen in paralyzing shock.

There was no time. This ship was already sinking.

"You have to jump," the Doctor yelled over the cacophony.

She gaped at him in horror. "What?"

"Jump! I'll catch you."

He held his arm out and tried to put as much assurance into his expression as he could gather. Rose took a deep, steadying breath, and backed up a few paces. Ignoring the voices around her that pleaded with her to stay, she sprinted the few strides left of the ballroom floor and leapt across the gaping hole just as the ship's stern pulled away behind her.

For those next agonizing seconds, time seemed to stop. Rose felt everything - each pummeling raindrop on her skin, the terrifying sensation of a free fall, and the sting of the raging wind in her eyes - with chilling clarity. Her heart seized in her chest at the reality that she might not make it.

By some miracle, the Doctor caught her on the other side, hands scrambling for purchase around hers as she swung precariously in the widening gap between the two halves of the doomed cruise liner. He gripped tightly but it was no use. Blue water surged around them as the rain pelted mercilessly from the sky. Their skin was just too slick and her fingers were slipping through.

"Doctor," she whispered. A prayer. A plea.

Rose fell.

The last thing she remembered was the Doctor screaming her name before she crashed roughly into the water below.


	2. Something of the Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor finds Rose... or at least someone who looks like her.

_"The wolf, there's something of the wolf about you!"_

* * *

 

Rose heard the noise clearly, her ears attuned to pick up even the slightest disturbance over the natural activity of the forest. The character of the sound surprised her, as she was sure she had outgrown that particular delusion a long time ago. And it had started out as such a good day, a sunny reprieve from the incessant storms of the rainy season. She knew it wasn't what it sounded like. It was the wind through a rocky tunnel or the groans of a dying animal fallen prey to one of her traps. Even so, it was worth investigating.

She bounded down the rocky hill to the denser thicket easily. The sloping terrain in this part of the woods proved little resistance. Rose was less familiar with this area but hunted here enough to know the way. In the vale below, she knew there was a clearing near the little stream she had nicknamed the Thames. The sound had originated there, carrying through the open air in the gap. Through shades of purple brush and trees, she caught a glimpse of impossible blue.

As she neared, Rose felt something warm radiating against her chest and gasped. Blood? She hadn't felt the telltale pain of pierced skin. Alarmed, she scrambled with her jacket to examine the area below. The TARDIS key was glowing and warming the skin of her chest. Well, that was new. She pulled the nostalgic trinket out and zipped up her coat against the chill. Trying in vain to squash the traitorous hope fluttering in her stomach, she trudged on through the dense foliage surrounding the glen ahead of her.

The police box sat conspicuously in the middle of the clearing not forty paces away. A sophisticated trick of her mind. She was so tired of playing out this fantasy. Tentatively she approached the glade until the door opened suddenly and she froze. The Doctor peeked out and surveyed his surroundings for a moment before his eyes fixated on her.

"Rose," he breathed reverently, solace shining in his eyes as his face split into a grin.

Reflexively, the Doctor ran forward to embrace her in sheer relief at finding her alive. He stopped abruptly after only a few paces when she raised her weapon at him, swiftly drawing an arrow taut with the bowstring. His arms flew up in a universal gesture of surrender and the overjoyed expression on his face fell immediately.

Shocked by her hostile reaction, he took in her appearance for the first time. He was sure this was Rose, the TARDIS had locked on to her bio signature specifically, but the woman before him was transformed. She was so slight, her lithe body made up almost exclusively of finely toned muscle. Her untamed mane of hair had grown out so it was now more honeyed brown than blond. She wasn't dirty by any means, but there was a thin dusting of dirt clinging to her skin and clothes that spoke of nature and exertion.

Denim jeans, ripped and torn and now cut off at the knees, were stained almost beyond recognition. Her worn leather jacket held up a fraction better, though it was looser where it had once hugged her body. She'd fashioned a quiver out of a length of plastic pipe and the belt at her waist was stocked with various tools to aid in her survival. The TARDIS key glowed where it hung from her neck. There were carnivore's teeth threaded on the chain, an uneven number on either side, like some kind of morbid abacus. He dreaded to think what it might be counting.

The Doctor took a careful half-step forward. "Rose, it's me."

Predatory eyes trained on him as she stalked cautiously to the right, keeping her bow drawn and aimed as precisely as her gaze. He turned, following her movements so he was always facing her. She trailed a wide arc around him until she was standing next to the TARDIS. Rose lowered her weapon slowly but never averted her sharp stare as she tentatively reached out to touch the painted wood. He realized suddenly that she doubted the reality of this situation. Through shock and exhaustion, she somehow thought this was an illusion.

"It's real, Rose," he assured her, treating her name with careful tenderness. He kept repeating it, as though he needed to convince both of them that's who she really was. "We're both real."

She laughed bitterly and finally spoke for the first time. Even her voice had acquired a hardened edge. "That's what you always used to say. Back when I still dreamed."

"You have to believe me," the Doctor told her sternly but not unkindly. "I'm here."

She scoffed, breaking their gaze for the first time to roll her eyes heavenward. "Why?"

"Why?" he repeated, dumbfounded. "To save you. Bring you back on the TARDIS. To rescue you."

Rose glowered darkly. "Too late. I rescued myself."

"Yes, I can see that."

She didn't respond. Instead she just continued to stare at him with an air of disbelief that he was even real. Her silence unnerved him. She seemed to have retired her weapon, for the moment at least, so the Doctor finally put down his tiring arms.

The TARDIS groaned in warning, a reminder that their time was limited. Rose jumped back in alarm at the sudden sound, gripping her bow and arrow at the ready and backing away suspiciously. Her eyes darted from the ship to the Doctor and back.

"Look, I'm sorry to rush you but we have to go now." he insisted hurriedly. "The atmospheric electromagnetic network of this planet is extremely delicate and landing the TARDIS here seems to exacerbate the electrostatic charge in the air. It's particularly dangerous in the monsoon season and I can't risk - "

"You caused the storm," Rose realized, cutting him off.

The Doctor stalled a moment, crafting his words carefully. "The ship was sabotaged; it was always going to fail. But dematerialising from the Vortex did somehow worsen the monsoon, yes. I didn't know that would happen."

This was all happening too fast. Months of pain, longing, and fear and now he turned up just like that with the easy answers. Rose was overcome. The anger surprised her, boiling over inside until the fire lit in her chest.

"You have no idea how long I waited," she rumbled, voice wracked with the tumult devouring her heart. "The things I've seen - and done - to survive. And you show up here out of nowhere and want me to come with you?"

"I'm sorry," he said, letting the genuine remorse show on his face. "I'm so sorry that I couldn't get here sooner. The storms, they - there's something off about this planet."

"I know," she snapped harshly.

He nodded. "Right." Then the terrible thought occurred to him. "Do you want to stay?"

"Until a few moments ago, I didn't have a choice."

The TARDIS sounded again and they both looked up to see the rooftop lamp flash, signaling the urgency of departure.

"You do have a choice," the Doctor assured her. "You always have a choice. But this time, you have to make it quickly."

Her face twisted with the heavy feelings weighing her decision. "I almost died here. The others, they..." she trailed off, as though the end of that sentence was too grave to be spoken.

"Rose, I'm so sorry. I want to help you. Please," he begged fervently. "Come with me."

To his dismay, Rose looked at the wilderness behind much like she had looked at London all those years ago. Even worse, she looked toward himself and the TARDIS, not with relief but with the fear and uncertainty of leaving something safe and familiar behind. In a nightmarish succession of nights and days, this place had become her reality, and him, his ship, their travels and adventures, had become the dream.

He held out his hand to her in offering. "Let's go home."

Rose didn't take it. She returned the arrow to its quiver, hung the bow over her shoulder, turned abruptly and marched through the doors and into the TARDIS. The Doctor had asked her for a split second decision and she made it. If this was a dream, at least it was a good one. She hadn't experienced that pleasure in a while.

After a moment processing his disappointment, he followed.

Inside, the Doctor quickly busied himself, dancing around the console to send them back into the Vortex. While the Rose he knew would normally comment on his driving, laugh at his antics, offer to help, or something, the Rose standing there now just stared numbly. She hung back at the top of the ramp, making no move to really enter the room. Once he was convinced they were safely adrift, he turned his attention back to her.

"Come on," he urged gently. "I want to take you to the medical bay and check out your injuries."

Rose narrowed her eyes dangerously. "If this really is the TARDIS, the only thing I want right now is a hot shower."

"All right," he agreed, nodding and running a hand through his hair anxiously. "Okay. That's good. A shower would be good. Tomorrow, then. We'll get you sorted."

"If you're still here tomorrow," she said blithely.

Without another word, Rose brushed past him, through the console room and down the corridor toward her old bedroom.

He stood there for a while, trying to make sense of the last hour. For the past week, he had replayed the agony of watching her fall in his mind until it nearly drove him mad. He'd been so afraid she had perished. Or that she was alive but lost to him for good. The days spent searching for her had felt like forever. But it appeared Rose had endured much longer. He wanted to know what she found on that island that changed her so completely. And on the other hand, he didn't.

The Doctor remembered the joy he had felt when the TARDIS finally located her. He knew she needed space, to re-acclimate herself to their old life and reflect on everything that had happened. But he couldn't suppress the overwhelming desire to be close to her. Resolved, he padded down the corridor after her.

Quietly he sat outside her door, listening to the shower water run so long he thought it might never end. When it finally shut off, it was only a few minutes until heavy footsteps sounded from the en suite and he heard the soft thud of Rose falling into bed. The room fell silent as she drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

The Doctor waited.


	3. Always Find You

_They're in the back of the posh state car, on the way to 10 Downing Street and Rose is practically giddy, swept up in the excitement and intrigue of the whole situation. She's seen beautiful, terrible, and amazing things out there in the universe and now it's all come back with her, home to London where she was born. In the short time she's been with the Doctor, she's learned that anything is possible. A servant girl can save the Earth and a shop girl off a council estate can be chauffeured to the Prime Minister's office._

_"Like they said on the news," the Doctor explains. "They're gathering experts on alien knowledge. And who's the biggest expert of the lot?"_

_Rose flashes a cheeky grin. "Patrick Moore?"_

_He bristles, just a bit put out. "Apart from him."_

_She giggles happily. "Oh, don't you just love it?"_

_He returns her smile briefly but then regards her seriously. "Now when we get there, you let me do the talking." He jabs a finger pointedly in the air near her face. "And don't go wandering off."_

_"I would never!" She smirks and rolls her eyes playfully at his skeptical look. "But what should I do if we get separated? Like in Cardiff."_

_"Run. You just keep running, keep moving, until I can find you."_

_Rose bites her lip worriedly. "Yeah, but what if you don't?"_

_The Doctor smiles warmly, blue eyes shining with promise. "Oh, Rose. I will always find you."_

* * *

Rose wasn't sure how she made it to the shore alive. It must have been the sheer force of will to survive that kept her kicking to the surface for breath after each wave swallowed her whole. The rain showed no signs of stopping but for the moment she was still, sprawled out on the sandy beach, and she reveled in the feeling of solid land.

The cold downpour numbed the ache in her bones but also chilled her skin to the point of shivering. She needed to head inland and find shelter. Slowly she rolled over and braced on her knees to stand. She wasn't out of shape - they did so much running she was probably qualified to enter a marathon - but the struggle to remain afloat against the storm combined with the downward pull of a sinking ship had done a number on her body. Rose was tired, sore, and freezing.

She trudged up the beach toward the treeline. The distant orange sun had set at some point behind the heavy clouds and dusk had fallen. In the darkness and the rain, she was lucky to see ten feet ahead of her. Unsure of the indigenous wildlife, she took her journey carefully, trying to stick on a defined path through the underbrush of the forest.

Along her way, she found a rosy ripened fruit that resembled an apricot hanging tantalizingly from a waist-high bush. Hungry from her desperate swim from the ship, Rose plucked several fruits, biting into one and pocketing the rest for later. The taste was sweet, somewhere between a raspberry and a plum, with a juicy almost gel-like texture. She was lucky to find something to eat so soon, and it gave her the strength to push on.

The rocky hill leading up to the mountain looked promising, so Rose was sure to head up toward the peak. She followed the stone ridge at the edge of the trees until she found a narrow overhang - less a cave and more a covered passage. It was out of the rain which was good enough for her.

Sitting under the rock, she started to dry off but still shivered with the chill of wet clothing. With nothing else for heat, she had to find a way to make a fire. Swiftly, she gathered the few dry twigs and small branches scattered in the shelter of the outcropping. Making a little tent, she laid the thickest branch flat on the ground jutting out from the others.

She remembered watching the Doctor do this one night when they were trapped on another wilderness planet. Rose took the straightest and sturdiest stick of the bunch and jammed it down perpendicular to the end of thick branch on the ground. She rolled the stick back and forth with her palms, trying to create enough friction to make a spark.

It had looked a lot easier when the Doctor did it. Rose kept at it until her arms grew tired and her hands were starting to get numb. Frustrated, she threw her arms up, letting the stick topple to the ground. She had never wished so hard for just one match.

Desperate for warmth, she attempted the process again to no avail. Just when she was about to give up, she remembered bits and pieces of a nature show she watched with Mickey so very long ago. The spark would be tiny, so small that it needed something to latch onto so it could grow and ignite.

Rose did a quick survey of the cave. Finding a few dried leaves and a bit of a cotton-like substance gave her some hope that her efforts might work. With her muscles and skin sore from exertion, she tried again. Forcing herself to push through a little longer than her first try, she was rewarded with a tiny flame lighting the haphazard kindling.

She blew gently on the flame, encouraging the sticks to catch fire. In a few moments it was there, a little campfire. Rose huddled around it, trying to protect the flames from the wind. It was so small, a tiny heartbeat against the cold.

As she soaked up the warmth of the fire, a queasy feeling she thought was just nerves intensified until she felt her stomach churn painfully. Rose scrambled outside the cave and heaved up the fruit she ate earlier. Her body protested the unfamiliar food violently, wracking her already tired abdominal muscles and forcing her to retch until there was nothing left.

Panting for air, she crawled back near the fire, once again wet with sweat and rain. She felt the telltale flush and vertigo of fever take over her senses. Trembling as the chills took over her body, she scooted closer to the small flames.

Even in her delirious state, Rose swore she could hear the groan of the TARDIS somewhere in the chaos of the storm. There was no way she would make it out from her shelter under the rock. She tried to cry out to the Doctor but her raw, dry throat only crackled quietly.

Alone and utterly spent, Rose curled around herself and sobbed barren tears.

Until finally, finally she fell asleep.


	4. Nightmare's Wake

_"She's a feral child. I bought her for sixpence in Old London Town."_

* * *

 

Someone was here. In the darkness, they'd caught up with her, found her at her most vulnerable and prepared to dispatch her as she slept. As if she would let them. Rose was a survivor now, if this unseen enemy was going to bring her down, she'd go down fighting. She reached for her knife, always at her hip when she slept, and was up like a shot. In a flash, the blade was pressed dangerously against the neck of her attacker.

In the dim light pouring through the cracked door, the fearful illusion faded into reality. She was safe in her room on the TARDIS, not the base camp on the island, and the body perched above her was not a strange enemy but the Doctor. His eyes were wide with shock at her outburst and he held perfectly still, lest the razor edge slit his throat.

With a shaky breath, Rose relaxed and pulled the blade carefully away from him.

"Sorry," she lamented, looking genuinely contrite. "You really shouldn't sneak up on me."

The weapon removed, she smoothed her fingers gently over his neck, checking for any laceration. He shivered involuntarily at the intimate contact. Rose found the skin unharmed and drew her hand away, breaking the moment.

"Rose," he whispered hoarsely. "Why are you on the floor?"

"Bed was too soft," she explained. "Couldn't sleep."

"I didn't mean to wake you," the Doctor apologized softly. "You cried out. I thought it was a nightmare and I wanted..."

He trailed off. In truth, he wasn't sure exactly  _what_  he had wanted. To wake her, surely, to comfort her, probably, and - against his better judgment - to maybe ask her what troubled her subconscious so badly it had her wailing and convulsing in her sleep. There were so many things he wanted to tell her, and even more he wanted to know, the Doctor really wasn't sure where to start.

"S'okay," Rose said, scooting back and sitting up fully. "I'm awake now."

"You don't have to -" he hitched. When did it become so hard to talk to Rose of all people? "You can sleep some more, if you like." He gestured at the room around them dramatically. "All of space and time at our disposal, there's no hurry."

He attempted what he hoped was a reassuring smile, trying to breach the invisible distance that had crept up between them. Her lips twitched up briefly, the ghost of a once instinctive reaction, then it was gone. Rose stood slowly and the Doctor raised his head to follow her movement.

"I'm up," she said simply. "And I'm famished. Don't suppose there's any food in the kitchen?"

She tried to keep her tone light but there was something hiding underneath, a heavy shadow weighing down on her shoulders. Not sure if he was ready to face it, the Doctor let her brush the darkness aside in favor of forced levity.

"Yeah," he chirped. "Breakfast, anytime you want. Fancy some pancakes?"

"I'm not picky," she replied brusquely.

Now what was he to do with a Rose that didn't care about breakfast? How many mornings did they have the whole spread planned by the time they made it to the kitchen - waffles or toast, jam or marmalade, tea and scones. He didn't realize how much he missed those inane conversations until they were making the journey to the TARDIS kitchen together in silence.

When they reached their destination, Rose immediately busied herself with preparing toast while the Doctor went about making tea. They worked simultaneously but separately, an uncomfortable quiet hanging in the air.

She sat down as soon as the bread was toasted, slathering on no more than a scant smudge of bitter orange marmalade before she scarfed the food down hurriedly, as she so often had during her time away. It was a habit that came from not knowing when the next meal would come. She was only aware of her bad table manners when she caught him staring.

"Sorry," she murmured quietly around a full mouth, looking a bit ashamed.

"No, it's..." he shook his head, trying to remove the traces of surprise from his face. "Fine. You're fine." He plastered on a smile for good measure.

Rose nodded hesitantly and sipped her tea. Two sugars, the same way she always took it. But after so many months without processed sugar, her sense of taste had changed. It was too sweet, almost cloying. She didn't say anything, but was sure he saw the 'ick' face she made.

She finished her toast and cleaned up, pouring the rest of the tea down the sink.

"Don't you want anything else?" the Doctor piped up, worried at her lack of appetite.

Rose shook her head. "No, that'll hold me for a while."

She ate so quickly, he didn't even have a chance to sit down. Not that it mattered, she hadn't made anything for him anyway, just two slices of toasted bread. He put his own tea on the counter and turned back to face her.

"Will you let me examine you?"

"Yeah."

Falling into silence again, Rose let him lead her to the medical bay. She really wasn't sure what he hoped to accomplish there, all her injuries had healed or at least scabbed over during the time she spent trapped on the island.

In the infirmary, she began stripping off her pajamas without preamble. Surprised by her boldness, the Doctor whirled around so his back was to her, pretending to fiddle with instruments and to not be affected by her brazen behavior.

"Where do you want me?" Rose queried plainly.

Her voice came out in a bored monotone, but the words alone evoked improper scenarios.

"Um," he began intelligently. "On the table, please."

He listened to her clambering up on the examination table before he turned. The Doctor found her waiting rather impatiently in her bra and panties, arms wrapped protectively over her midsection. She was watching him with rapt caution rather than shyness.

He pulled his glasses from his pocket and slid them on his face as he approached the table.

While the brainy specs usually made her heart flutter with the way they made geek look adorable on him, today they seemed to convey a clinical impartiality, as though he could hide his true emotions behind them. Everything about his posture was more professional than friendly, his former 'bedside manner' of teasing and flirty tension banished completely.

He started with her feet, testing the reflexes of her ankles first and then moving up to her knees. She recognized the tests of a neurological examination and reached out her hands next, pressing against his open palms to evaluate her muscle strength. He seemed surprised at her gain in strength and definition, but she wasn't. All that running, climbing, hunting, and fighting had to pay off somehow.

She moved to take her hands back but he stopped her, running his fingers over the marred skin of her arms. There was a patchwork cross-hatching of scars, various lengths and sizes at all different angles.

"Rose," he whispered mournfully. "What happened to you? These injuries..."

She did pull her hands back, then, forcing him to look up at her.

"Just get on with the exam," she snipped. Then, feeling she was a little bitchy, added, "Please."

"Right."

The Doctor pulled out the sonic from an inside pocket and stooped back down to examine her legs in more detail. Her lower limbs were scarred as well, though the scars there were more spaced out. The frequency of scars on her arms implied defensive wounds, which frightened him the most.

"Did anyone make it to the island?" he asked curiously.

Rose glowered, willing him with her eyes not to ask the questions he was already voicing.

He continued, oblivious to the nonverbal message. "Ridgely, Erin, Frank?" He looked up. "Sarah?"

"Can we please not," she begged darkly.

"Right. Sure, sorry."

He wished he knew a way to restore her equilibrium. When they faced the particularly disturbing perils back in the beginning, beasts in pits and inhuman metal monsters, he would always take her back to Jackie. A warm cuppa and a hug from mum would restore her. He wished he could offer to take her home now. But 'home' was inaccessible, cut off in another dimension forever. There was only him and Rose, in the TARDIS. The closest to home either of them were ever going to get.

With no real comfort to offer, he focused his attentions on appraising her physical state instead. He moved the sonic up and over each knee, checking tendons and muscles. Her whole body had been overworked, so many ligaments stretched and healed improperly. She was stronger overall, but the rough path taken to gain that strength had also taken its toll.

When he moved on to her abdomen, gently touching her waist to keep her steady, Rose flinched noticeably. He immediately pulled away, afraid he'd inadvertently hurt her, though he didn't see any fresh bruising near where he had touched.

"They didn't - " she blurted suddenly, shrinking away from him.

"Who didn't what?" he prompted gently, peering at her over his glasses.

"Rape me," Rose finished in a small voice.

The Doctor winced and nearly retched at the thought that that had even been a possibility. The planet was supposed to be abandoned, but the more he learned from Rose, the more it seemed that wasn't true. Whoever had attempted to force themselves on his companion, on Rose, they were incredibly lucky they were out of his reach.

"I'm sorry," he murmured soberly, the burn of the Oncoming Storm darkening his eyes.

"They say the more you say it, the less meaning that phrase holds," she replied in a thin voice.

She was looking through him, rather than at him. Into the distance as though she could see something that wasn't there. He watched her for a long moment, unsure of how to proceed.

"I paid them back," Rose said suddenly, her tone grave and brimming with restrained anger.

"Yeah," he exhaled roughly, not really sure how to process these ominous details. He reached out a hand hesitantly, jerking back several times in indecision before gently resting on her shoulder. "Are you alright? We can finish this later."

"No, I'm fine," she affirmed. "Just - let's hurry up and get this done, yeah?"

"I think we are, actually. Done, I mean," he decided promptly. "The scarred tissue has already set in for most of these wounds. There's not much I can do."

Rose shook her head. "That's alright. I'd want to keep them anyway. I earned them."

He nodded vaguely. "Given the circumstances, I think it's best we refrain from traveling until you recover."

"Afraid I'll hurt somebody?" she presumed astutely.

His answering look was distressed, almost pained. "There's no shame in what's happened to you, Rose. You need to rest."

She crossed her arms and huffed. "Why don't you just lock me in a cage and get it over with."

"That's not what this is about and you know it," he snapped back sternly. "I just want what's best for you. For your body. You've been through a trauma and it's still healing."

"I'm not a child anymore," she growled, anger rising in her chest. "I don't need to be coddled. Wherever you're going next, it's fine. I'll be fine."

He sighed heavily, the guilt for her present condition weighing him down. He worried most about her mental state even if he didn't say it. Still, if Rose had been stubborn before, he was starting to see he had no chance in persuading her now. He settled on a compromise.

"Do you want to go visit Earth for a bit? We could go somewhere innocuous. Your present day. Some safe, sunny place?"

"Nowhere is safe with you," Rose declared seriously. "But a sunny place on Earth is fine."

"Okay."

The Doctor smiled but there was no humor in it.

"I'll want another shower first," she announced firmly.

Her skin was more than clean after last night's thorough scrubbing, but she swore she could still feel months' worth of grime still covering her body.

He nodded absently. "Whenever you're ready."

Rose gave a determined nod and hopped down off the examination table. She quickly shrugged on her shirt and flung the soft pajama pants over her shoulder before exiting the room, leaving the Doctor alone with his thoughts.

The nightmares, her instinctual aggression, and detached personality; it was clear Rose was tormented by her ordeal. He wanted so badly to help her, but was at a loss as to how to start when she didn't want to talk about anything. She was hardened on the outside, honed with the skills of hunting and defending herself physically, but he saw the fragility beneath the surface in her unguarded moments. It was a precarious balance, and he was afraid to tip it lest he break down the now brittle trust between them.

While Rose may not blame him outright for being cast away, she obviously held some resentment toward him. More than that, she didn't have any confidence that he could help her recover. She had forced herself not to need him, or anyone, and he feared what she would become if her aloof demeanor remained permanently. Her compassion and clemency were the traits he loved about Rose. He couldn't imagine Rose Tyler without them.

Somehow, he had to find these pieces of Rose, buried deep inside wherever they were, and get her back.


	5. Lost Girl

_"Doctor," she whispers his name in a voice gravelly from exhaustion, bleary eyes blinking to try and take in his thin frame above her._

_"Shh, Rose," he soothes calmly, stroking her hair with the utmost tenderness. "You have a concussion. Don't try and move."_

_"Wha' happened?" Rose asks, wincing as the pain starts to catch up with her._

_"The rebels overtook the temple. Tahiri and the others ran, leaving you to protect little Sevan. Do you remember?"_

_"Are they alright?"_

_His eyes darken and he looks away from her sullenly. "You were struck from behind," he tells her, dodging the question entirely. "You'll be okay, you just need to rest."_

_"We safe here?" she wonders aloud, not really sure where here is. It is dark and trying to focus her eyes gives Rose more of a headache._

_"For the moment," he admits with a heavy sigh._

_Her head is in the Doctor's lap and it's warm and comforting and wonderful. She's just starting to drift off when he shakes her shoulders quickly._

_"You can't sleep, Rose."_

_"'m tired," she mumbles groggily._

_He shakes her again. "I know, but you can't sleep. You have a bad concussion."_

_"So talk to me."_

_The Doctor smiles, though she can't see it. "What do you want me to say?"_

_"Anything," she says dreamily. "Tell me about the stars. The ones we haven't seen yet."_

_"There are so many. So, so many stars left to show you, Rose Tyler."_

_"Tell me," Rose breathes quietly._

_The Doctor lifts her hand to place a gentle kiss to her knuckles. This is the only time he expresses any sort of affection, when she's hurt or sick and not really in her right mind. It's as though he can only reach out to her on the edge of dreaming, where fantasy and reality blur in perfect harmony._

_He places her hand back down at her side but doesn't let go. Then, he starts to speak._

* * *

The scattered pieces of a dream lingered as Rose began to wake. In sleep, she could live in memory, rehashing her past adventures by the Doctor's side until he found her again. Being close to him in remembered dreams, listening to the lilt of his voice as he babbled on about beautiful mindless things, made her feel just a little less lonely.

Coming back to the present, the ache in her body from sleeping against stone and the cold chill of morning on her skin reminded her that in reality she was still alone, left to fend for herself on this island. She felt grubby, disoriented, and sore. And, she realized as the drowsiness began to fade, hungry. Not just hungry, she was ravenous. The first order of the day was definitely finding food.

She dragged herself down the rocky hill toward the water, a distant blue strip seen through the trees. Along the way, a glittering stone caught her eye. She stooped down to pick it up, a huge chunk of what looked like obsidian, only it was a deep indigo color instead of black. She pocketed the stone and continued on to the beach, paying no attention to vegetation after the other night's mishap with the fruit.

When she reached the narrow beach, Rose set up shop on an outcropping of rocks, grabbing a long, smooth branch along the way. She pulled at a long string of denim from a rip in her jeans, careful to keep the thread unraveling in one piece. It was slow work, but in the end, she thought she had enough thread. She wound the string in a neat pile on the rock beside her.

Rose thanked whatever lucky star was watching out for her that she pocketed her earrings back on the ship when things started to go pear-shaped. She pulled one out, tying the makeshift fishing line where the wire met the golden dangle. Now, her fishing pole had a hook.

Mickey had taken her fishing once - or tried. At the time, she hadn't wanted to put the worm on the hook because it was gross and she was just a council estate shopgirl from South London. Right now, she found herself indebted to that experience.

This was the second time that boy had saved her since being trapped here. The thought saddened her in more ways than she could handle. In the absence of her father, it seemed Mickey Smith had tried his very best fill the shoes of positive male role model in Pete's stead. Mickey had taught her so much about life, a fact she didn't really start to realize until she lost him. Now they were both gone, her father and the boyfriend who'd acted as her surrogate big brother, even when they were dating.

She found some disgusting grub among the dirt at the treeline to smush on the hook of her earring and cast the line as far out in the water as it would go - which, considering she only had a very short line, wasn't very far. Still, she had to hope. Rose wedged the end of her pole sturdily between two rocks to free up her hands.

Keeping a wary eye on the line for any hint of a tug. She found a blunt, sea-smoothed rock and went to work on the indigo glass she'd found in the woods. Smashing the rock against the edge, she hoped with each pound the brittle stone would break into an edge. After a few different angles and speeds of her blows, a shard finally flaked off the volcanic glass. With a victory whoop, she repeated the action, attempting to form the dark cobalt stone into a curved blade.

A sudden noise jerked Rose's attention down the beach. It sounded mechanical, almost like radio static. She followed the sound to find a pile of debris from the shipwreck mixed with the driftwood and seaweed. She began clearing the rubbish pile when something bright caught her eye and she discovered a half-buried comm, encased in protective orange plastic, that was indeed emitting static.

Cautiously optimistic, she turned some dials, but came no closer to getting anything clearer. Shifting through more of the rubble, she found a length of rope and, to her extreme satisfaction, some kind of advanced push-button lighter that somehow survived the water and still emitted a tiny flame. With these assets, she was beginning to feel just a little more secure.

Hours passed, or at least it felt that way to her hungry stomach. Flaking the indigo glass into an sharpened edge was grueling. Not every strike resulted in a break and the ones that did were small, her progress inching forward slowly. A few times, she smashed her fingers, cursing and yelping in pain. Finally, one side started to taper, forming a rudimentary blade. She tested the sharpness on a small branch, the blade slicing through with some resistance. She could do better.

The sun was beginning to sink low in the sky. She could see the fish leaping out of the water, taunting her. Wiping sweat from her brow, she went back to work.

She was distracted from her stonework again by a firm tug on her fishing line. Rose leapt forward frantically, just missing the pole as it was dragged quickly toward the water's edge. She waded into the shallow water and snatched the pole, pulling it backward forcefully and causing a healthy-sized fish to launch onto the beach behind her. It struggled to find its way back into the gentle waves lapping at the shore. She felt she could weep with joy, even as she contemplated just how this was going to turn into something remotely edible.

As it turned out, her newly formed knife was the perfect tool to sever the head of the doomed animal, finally stopping its incessant flopping about. The blade also proved useful in shucking the scales, a nasty job that nearly made her lose any appetite. She gained it back, though, about an hour later when the fish was impaled on a stick over the fire and starting to smell like the best meal she was ever about to eat.

Rose devoured the small pieces of the fish she could manage to pick off the bone with her fingers. Despite the difficulty of pulling flaky flesh from the sharp skeleton, she ate quickly and was finished her meager meal all too soon. The nourishment left her momentarily satisfied, but not full. As a reward for all her efforts, she folded her clothes neatly on the shore and went for a swim to wash off the day's grime. By the time she was dressed again, the sky was darkening once again with rain clouds. She gathered her new supplies and made her way back to the rocky outcropping that had become her temporary home, before it was too dark to find the way.

Along the way, she gathered as many twigs and branches as she could carry, eager to use her new firestarter to make a more comfortable heat source for the night. Back at the camp, the fire was just beginning to light when the rain started.

In the relative safety of her tiny cave, she took the downtime to play with the comm she'd found on the beach. The garbled white noise grew louder, sputtered, then quieted. She kept turning the dials to different channels, slowly, hoping to catch a clear signal. All of the sudden, she could hear talking. Surprised, Rose nearly dropped the little radio in her scramble to hit the 'talk' button.

"Hello?" she called quickly.

_"Hullo,"_  came a male voice on the other end, muted by static.  _"Who am I speaking to?"_

"This is Rose Tyler," she breathed out on a sigh. "Who's this?"

_"Scott Talbot,"_  he answered gruffly.  _"Assistant Security Officer. Concordia."_

_"Carol Purcell here, too,"_  a female voice added.  _"Entertainment Director."_

_"And Frank. Frank Walker, um, passenger,"_  wavered a young male voice, sounding scared. He sounded familiar, one of the people she met so very briefly on the ship.

_"She's the one I was telling you about. Rose was with him, the Doctor. She's his girlfriend,"_  the cocktail waitress chimed in.

_"What doctor?"_  the security offer grunted.

"Sarah," Rose breathed, relief infusing her tone at hearing the familiar voice. If the situation weren't so dire, Rose may have been able to appreciate the irony of feeling such joy from hearing the blond waitress Sarah again.

_"Ridgely here, Rose,"_  said the posh gentleman she remembered from the ballroom.  _"Erin is with me. Are you safe?"_

"Yeah," Rose answered promptly.

_"Miss Tyler, have you seen them?"_  sweet Carol jumped in suddenly.

Rose furrowed her brows worriedly. "Seen who?"

_"There are men out there with guns,"_  Carol explained hurriedly.  _"They've already gotten three of us."_

_"Hush, Carol,"_  Ridgely admonished.  _"No need to scare the poor girl."_

_"She needs to know,"_  Sarah pointed out.

"Have you heard from him, the Doctor?" Rose asked, her voice shaking with barely restrained hope.

_"Oh, Rose,"_  Sarah breathed sadly.  _"No one's seen him since the ship... he was on the other side, honey."_

"I know, it's just -" she swallowed briefly, gathering her composure. "He has this spaceship, right? And lots of alien tech. He could hack the connection, easy."

_"Well, he hasn't yet,"_  Ridgely confirmed.

_"Why are we wasting time talking about this doctor?"_  Officer Talbot grumbled angrily.  _"He can't help us. We need a plan."_

_"Scott!"_  Sarah protested.

"No, he's right," Rose allowed, forcing herself to be calm and rational. "The Doctor will come, eventually. But for now we need to focus."

_"We need to determine a rally point,"_  Scott insisted, taking back control of the conversation.

_"I agree,"_  Ridgely said.  _"Safety in numbers."_

_"It can't be too open if those men are out there hunting down survivors,"_  Frank asserted wisely.

The thought of someone hunting them was frightening, but Rose pushed it aside to focus on what they could control.

"Does everyone know the big smooth boulder by the edge of the trees shaped like - like almost a perfect circle?" she submitted to the group. The general consensus was affirmative. "How about we meet up there tomorrow, when the sun is directly above in the sky."

With some begrudging from Talbot, probably just because the idea hadn't been his, everyone agreed. The survivors kept talking over the radio, sharing frightening details of their escape from the wreckage and the distress they'd witnessed on the island so far. Rose grew quiet, tuning out the conversation in favor of her own thoughts.

After a while, it grew dark and listening to the comm became more nerve-wracking than comforting. Unable to tolerate the voices escalating in panic any longer, she switched it off.

Rose was exhausted, but she was also anxious and wired from adrenaline. Sleep would not take her. Absently, her fingers drew oblong circles against her stomach, growing wider until finally her thumb and forefinger were popping the button on her jeans. Her hand found its way under the denim almost reluctantly. With no books or telly or company, this was the only way she could think of to force herself to relax.

It wasn't sexy or erotic at all, just quick and dirty friction striving toward the animalistic need for release. But then there was so much tension, too much fear and pain to overcome. She needed more.

It probably should have embarrassed her how close to the surface she kept these images of him. His long fingers would be so much better at this. The way they flitted over the console almost too fast for her to follow. Darkened umber eyes would scrutinize her every reaction. With every moan, his insufferably smug grin would widen.

It was enough. Imagining the Doctor here. The searing burn of pleasure radiated from the point of contact. The pressure coiled as the wind became his cool breath on her skin, a distant roar became his groan of pleasure, her fingertips became his grinding mercilessly against the bundle of nerves that proved the fastest route to release. She panted as the wave rose higher than she could have imagined and then crashed.

Rose came hard, her entire body shuddering and convulsing with the power of it. When her orgasm began to wane, she found herself gasping for breath, ears ringing and muscles trembling with effort and relief.

In the afterglow, she felt a little disgusted. People had died these past two days. Others were still out there, alone and struggling just like her. And she had just climaxed to the thought of the man that had stranded her here. But she felt like it was these little things that would help her keep her sanity. The memory of his scent, the way he felt pressed against her when they hugged, the smile he reserved for only her.

Forcing her mind into comforting thoughts of her Doctor, Rose finally found sleep.


	6. Flown So Far

_"And you, you've flown so far, further than anyone! The things you've seen. The darkness..."_

* * *

 

It seemed at least one thing hadn't changed during their time apart. Rose still took forever to get ready. Fortunately, the Doctor was sufficiently engaged and therefore rather oblivious to the long wait. The TARDIS had a tough time navigating the charged atmosphere of Amalfi Six and was in desperate need of repair. Safely grounded on Earth with no imminent threats, he took the opportunity to spend some time under the console.

When Rose finally did appear, he was surprised by her approaching footsteps, absorbed as he was with his beloved ship.

"Your hair," he blurted out, staring dumbly.

Her hair color was still the same natural honeyed brown as when he'd found her yesterday, but now the locks were cropped short, falling just below her chin.

There were undeniable changes to her body, the scars and developed musculature evidence of her ordeal, but otherwise she looked the very picture of herself the morning they set out on the cruise liner Concordia. It was an eerie memory now, a shower-fresh Rose standing impatiently in the console room waiting for him to lead them on the next adventure.

"What?" she asked in a warning tone.

He swallowed purposefully, stalling to let his thoughts catch up with his gob, which seemed to run on its own this time around. "Nothing, it's lovely. Brilliant, really. Shall we?"

The Doctor climbed up on the grating beside her and motioned toward the doors with a flourish. Rose nodded in agreement but made no move to exit. She waited to follow him outside.

"Here we are, then," he narrated cheerily, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight. "Los Angeles, 1996, Santa Monica Pier, Pacific Park."

The amusement park had a retro vibe with bold decor and gaudy colors. It seemed the designers couldn't really decide on a central theme, resulting in a strange mish-mash of nautical and outer space adornments. The rides also seemed a bit outdated.

"Doctor," Rose deadpanned from behind him. "I know I've been gone a long time, but this doesn't look like 1996."

"Huh. Something doesn't seem right, does it?"

He rushed back inside, checking the monitor on the console to discover the discrepancy.

"Ah, right," he realized, looking up to see Rose hovering near the top of the ramp awaiting his diagnosis. "Los Angeles, 1966, Pier Avenue, Pacific  _Ocean_  Park. Slight miscalculation, easy mistake to make, really."

He stroked the console lovingly. "We've really got to give the old girl a break; she's been through a lot recently."

The Doctor turned to see Rose looking at him as if to say 'I've been through a lot, too'. He nodded knowingly, but avoided the subject for the moment. Rose seemed anxious to push onwards, and he was trying to respect that wish.

"Still, sunny day, amusement park, California. May as well enjoy, eh?"

She smiled wanly. "No chance of an earthquake?"

"Oh, no," he assured her quickly. "Not for a couple years yet. Now February, 1971, that's a time you don't want to be in Los Angeles."

"But not in 1966," Rose confirmed.

"Nope. Ah." He fiddled nervously with the hair at the back of his neck. "Unless you count the hysterical mob of fans at the penultimate Beatles concert over at Dodger Stadium?"

"I don't."

"Then, no. No earthquakes."

"Right," she sighed. "Sixties American theme park, here we go."

"Allons-y!" he cried happily, holding out his hand.

He had forgotten himself in that moment. Forgotten her outright denial of his offering when he first found her again. At her pensive expression his hearts sank, but he fought not to let it show. Rose was slow to react. After a thoughtful moment, she crossed the distance and gingerly looped her arm around his elbow. It wasn't exactly the reaction the Doctor wanted, but it was an improvement.

The day was seasonably warm and almost completely clear, with only a few puffy clouds dotting the blue sky. Bright sunlight beamed down on the beach unimpeded, making Rose wish she'd the foresight to bring sunglasses. The cool ocean breeze felt heavenly.

"What do you want to do?" he asked her as they walked down the midway.

"Dunno," she answered absently.

"We could get candyfloss, or cotton candy, I should say. That's what the Americans call it. What do you say?"

She shook her head, letting her arm slip from his so she could walk more slowly behind him. After so long in the relative quiet of the wilderness, the sensory overload of a busy afternoon amusement park was an unpleasant assault on her senses. The voices, sounds, and lights were overwhelming.

"They have a Sea Circus. Dolphins and seals trained to perform and all that. Oh! And a Banana Train Ride. Can you imagine? Bananas and a train, I love it," he rambled as they wound through the small crowd of families.

Rose felt as though the world was closing in on her. There were people on all sides walling her in and sounds coming from everywhere - the ringing of carnival games won, metallic clanking from moving rides, and so many voices trying to yell over the constant din. And then there were the children's screams - some in fear of the wandering clown, others in joy and delight - all of them unsettling to her ears.

Her chest tightened painfully and her lungs seemed to constrict tightly. Suddenly, there wasn't enough air. Her hands were trembling scarcely. She stopped walking, unable to take another step amid the mounting cacophony.

"You know what's weird, though?" the Doctor continued, walking ahead. "There's no one here. I mean, there are people here, obviously. But not very many. That's a bit odd, don't you think? No lines, right in the middle of tourist season? The Beach Boys write about this place in a song. A  _song_ , Rose. Once there's a song about a place, it's immortalized. Did I ever tell you -"

He turned around to find Rose was no longer behind him. He called her name worriedly, furious with himself for letting her out of his sight after coming so close to losing her for good. A quick scan of the crowd found her about ten paces behind, frozen on the spot.

The Doctor rushed back to her, placing his hands securely on her shoulders and gently shaking. He hoped to rouse her from whatever had triggered this panic, but she remained still and unresponsive. He sighed heavily, placing his forehead against hers.

"Rose, it'll be okay," he soothed calmly. "But you've got to move. Come with me, please."

She nodded slightly, almost imperceptibly, and allowed him to lead her away from the throng of people milling about the midway. He brought her behind one of the carnival game booths, a quieter, shadowy place. It wasn't until they were still that she started to break apart, closing her eyes and breathing heavily. The Doctor took her in his arms and rubbed her back, whispering soft words of comfort in an effort to calm her down.

"Sorry," she murmured softly when she could speak again. She pulled away from him a fraction until she felt she had space to breathe. "So many people."

"Don't apologize," he admonished kindly as he tucked her hair behind her ear.

His thumb lingered on her cheek, brushing so softly it made her shiver despite the awful feeling in the pit of her stomach.

The Doctor tilted his head down to catch her eyes. "Do you want to go back?"

"No," Rose replied doggedly. She took a deep breath and steeled herself against her anxiety. "What were you saying about attendance? You think something's wrong."

"We've got the TARDIS," he reminded her. "If there is something wrong, we can come back later, after a rest."

"I told you," she snapped. "I'm alright. Just, we'll stick to the sides, yeah? Not in the middle of the crowd."

"Sure," he breathed solemnly, resigned to her determination. "Whatever you like."

She held out her hand in a gesture that seemed equal parts security blanket and olive branch.

"Let's go ask someone why there aren't any lines."

Despite his serious concerns about her panic attack, he couldn't help the brilliant smile on his face at finally taking her proffered hand in his. No matter the horrors they faced, together or apart, no matter what changed between them, their hands still fit perfectly together. Rose in tow, the Doctor approached one of the employees at a ticket counter.

"Is it always like this?" he asked plainly.

"Like what?" the ticket vendor grumbled, clearly perturbed at being disturbed for something other than a sale.

"Quiet," the Doctor clarified. He gestured vaguely at the relatively uncrowded park behind them.

The vendor scoffed. "Has been, ever since the disappearances."

"Who's disappeared?" Rose jumped in quickly.

"What're you, cops?"

"Yes, that's right," the Doctor supplied happily. The psychic paper made a cameo appearance from his jacket pocket. "Doctor John Smith and this is Agent Rose Tyler, Federal Bureau of Investigations."

The employee frowned skeptically. "Local heat didn't give you the story?"

Rose was surprised at first that the vendor didn't comment on their accent, but chalked it up to the meddling TARDIS translation circuit. She had been chastised enough times by the Doctor to know imitating the local color did little to help their cause.

"Haven't checked in yet," the Doctor lied easily.

"We came straight to the source," Rose added helpfully.

The Doctor flashed a proud smile that she missed as she was fixing the vendor with her best intimidating stare.

"All sorts of people," the vendor stage whispered, scanning the area to be sure there were no customers nearby. "Kids, adults. It happens after dark, when the place starts to close up. People say it's a curse."

"And how do you like that, Rose?" the Doctor said, sounding just a bit too happy to hear this news. "A happy, sunny carnival on the beach that's cursed?"

"Jinkies!" Rose quipped with a mischievous grin.

The word sounded strange coming from her voice, but the Doctor smiled anyway.

They divided the midway, casually engaging the staff to gather intel as they waited for dark. The Doctor was sure Rose always remained in sight, wary of another incident of hyperarousal symptoms triggered by the small crowds navigating the park.

Rose was just starting to get back into the flow. From booth to booth, she conversed easily with the game agents and the visitors trying their luck. She even managed to flirt her way into a few free rounds of the ring toss - a skill she was sure she'd lost and forgotten after so much time on her own. Every so often the Doctor would send her a look across the way, allowing her the freedom to investigate on her own while still keeping silently in touch.

Everything was going well, until she neared the balloon-dart game. The sudden 'pop' sounded too much like the bang of a gunshot. In an instant Rose snapped into a fighting stance, blue-obsidian blade whipped out from where it had been tucked in the belt beneath her denim jacket. She discovered the source of the noise just as quickly and concealed the weapon in a frantic rush to not cause a panic.

Luckily, the crowds had died down in the early twilight and no visitors seemed to notice her moment of alarm. A quick glance also found the Doctor immersed in conversation, to her immense relief. She managed a few cleansing breaths, pulling herself back together.

Just as Rose was convinced her outburst went completely unwitnessed, she found the fortune teller watching her raptly. The woman was dressed as a gypsy, all bold colors and lush fabrics, complete with a gossamer veil covering the bottom of her face. There was a sinister air surrounding the gypsy woman, her dark-eyed stare unnerving in its intensity.

"You've come so far," the gypsy intoned coldly. "But the sound follows you, Rose Tyler."

Rose glared daggers at the stranger. "Nice trick, knowing my name. S'pose the Doctor told you."

The gypsy smirked wickedly beneath the veil. "How can he know what you have not told him? The voices that are screaming in your head."

"Look," Rose growled, growing more irate. "I'm in no mood for your fake mystical rubbish."

"So brave," the fortune teller rumbled. "The little girl still running from the big bad wolf."

Ominous words ringing loudly in her head, Rose's world went black.


	7. Witness

_She's been crying for hours, shut up in her bedroom on the TARDIS. When he finally appears at the doorway, she guesses he just figures it's been long enough._

_The Doctor leans against the frame for a while, just watching as she sniffles and rubs at her cheeks. Without a word he walks in, sitting down on the bed at her feet._

_"It's my fault," Rose says quietly. "I couldn't save him."_

_"You weren't meant to save him," the Doctor replies gently. "Your father died that day. It's a fixed point in time, it was always going to happen."_

_"But it worked," she protests with a choked sob. He gives her a skeptical look, icy eyes reminding her of the catastrophe they just narrowly averted. "For a little while," she amends quickly. "What if I - what if I -"_

_"What if you sang a little song and all the Reapers disappeared just like that?" He snaps his fingers on the last word. "You can't play that game, Rose. Believe me, it doesn't help."_

_"I was right there. And I couldn't even change anything."_

_"But you did change something, didn't you?" The Doctor takes her hand and squeezes it in his own. "This morning you told me your father died alone. Now, we've been there and back again and that's not true anymore, is it? You were there with him."_

_Rose sniffs briefly and nods her head in reluctant agreement._

_"You changed time. That's no easy thing to do," he admits seriously. "And that's coming from a Time Lord."_

_He bumps her shoulder and flashes a beaming grin. She manages a watery laugh._

_"Thank you," she murmurs gratefully._

_For comforting her, she means. But also for whisking her away in this magical box. For coming back and asking twice. For being willing to take her to witness her own father's death, despite the risks._

_"Always, Rose Tyler," he promises, pulling her into a hug. "Always."_

* * *

She heard them before she saw them, the voices echoing off the steep cliffs on this side of the island. The group had agreed on radio silence. If she could hear them, that meant she was close. Rose caught sight of the rendezvous point through the sparse canopy of leaves on the rocky outcropping above the beach clearing.

A few survivors were huddled around a small fire on the beach. A middle aged woman with curly brown hair, whom she recognized as Carol the entertainment director, was regaling the group with an animated story. It seemed she was trying to keep them calm until everyone arrived, and by the looks of it her efforts were successful. Rose was just about to call out and announce her presence when the ambush began.

Without warning, a sharp crack pierced the air and Carol froze abruptly, halting her story as her arms fell limply at her sides. She sat down heavily on her rear and a puff of disturbed sand escaped beneath her as a deep red stain blossomed in the center of her shirt. One of the survivors gently jostled her shoulder, asking if she was alright. Slumping to one side, Carol fell to the ground dead. In the next moment, a rounded canister-like object flew in a high arc from the trees, bouncing on the sand. With a thud, it slowly rolled into the center of the group just before the fire. It glistened for a moment in the reflected firelight. A grenade.

A trim, uniformed man, whom Rose recognized as Scott, the security officer, screamed for everyone to get down and find cover. The explosive detonated with a small but brilliant flash of fire and a devastating blast of shrapnel. Black smoke from the now extinguished fire billowed for a moment then cleared with the sea breeze.

Rose had a clear view from her vantage point but was too far to reach them in time. It all happened so quickly. Helplessly, she watched the massacre unfold.

Scott suffered a nasty hit of shrapnel in the shoulder but somehow remained conscious. He stood and shook his head to clear his vision, preparing to survey the damage. There was a shallow crater in the sand where the campfire had once been. The bodies of three survivors lay mangled and unmoving on the sand near Carol's lifeless body.

"Daniel? Sarah?" he cried out to the remainder of the group. His voice was distorted. It appeared as if he couldn't hear what he was saying over the ringing of his own ears.

Sarah had managed to throw herself away from the blast. She covered her head and rocked back and forth in a fetal position, muttering to herself, clearly experiencing shock.

The man who had introduced himself as Daniel while on board, a proud father who couldn't stop showing every passenger pictures of his children from his wallet, had a gash in his leg and a slight graze on his forehead but appeared otherwise unhurt. He stood clumsily, stumbling. He seemed disoriented, trying to find his center of gravity.

The attackers, who were only a moment ago taking cover and concealing themselves in the forest, materialized at the tree line. They stormed the beach with precision. Rose counted five gunmen. Two teams of two, the men marched shoulder-to-shoulder, holding black assault rifles sweeping from side to side. Rose could not clearly see their faces beneath the red bandanas they wore, but she imagined she could just make out the determined, hostile look in their eyes. The fifth brought up the rear. Rose couldn't see any of this man's face, it was covered by a black balaclava face mask. But she could see clearly see this assailants' bare muscular arms emerging from his camo flak jacket tightly gripping a fierce looking sawed off shotgun.

The riflemen opened fire on Daniel, who made himself an easy target by waving his arms, foolishly assuming that these men were here to "help". He caught several rounds in the chest before collapsing like a ragdoll onto the ground, blood pooling in the sand beneath his body. His wallet fell from his pocket landing, and laying open, at his side.

Two of the rifleman forced Scott down onto his knees in the sand training their weapons on him as he raised his hands in surrender. The third let out a sharp whistle and raised a finger in the air, moving it a circular motion signaling towards the forest. The fourth rifleman moved towards the body of a female passenger hit by the grenade. With his foot on her back, he leaned down to feel for a pulse. Rising, he shook his head. Rose had never even learned the woman's name.

Another passenger wounded by the grenade moaned piteously, still clinging desperately to life. The muscular man in the black mask pulled a sleek pistol from his belt and silenced the man with one last shot to the head.

The last attacker, who appeared to be the leader of the group, emerged casually from the woods. He was clean shaven, just a little taller than the rest and carried only a handgun. He took his time walking through the devastation on the beach, admiring his men's work as if examining the masterpieces on display within an art museum.

Scott glared at the leader bravely from his knees as the assailant approached.

"They were innocent," Scott growled. "Just passengers on a ship. No threat to you."

The leader regarded Scott, seemingly for the first time, and with a wave of his hand dismissed the crewman. With his back turned, he stated simply, "They were in my way." He walked over the unconscious Sarah who had fainted sometime during the attack. She was being cradled in the arms of the muscular man in the mask, who stood as still and unmoving as a statue.

"What do you think, Butch?" the leader asked his muscular subordinate casually. Butch flashed a filthy, toothy grin and the leader chuckled dryly. "That's what I thought."

"Who are you? You bast -" Scott's insult was cut short as a rifle butt was slammed into his cheek.

The leader smirked cruelly. He gently stroked Sarah's long hair which was splayed out, her previously well kept bun now in complete disarray. "I'm just a man who enjoys the finer things."

Butch lifted the officer's coat off of Sarah's prone body and the leader peered beneath. Earlier, in a gesture of kindness, Scott had draped his coat over Sarah's shoulder to help keep her appearing decent after her already scant waitress uniform had been torn during the disaster.

The leader turned back to Scott, licking his lips dramatically. He raised his eyebrows in an exaggerated gesture and purred in a sinister voice, "Yes, she'll do nicely."

"Don't you touch -" Scott never finished that sentence.

One of the rifleman fired one decisive shot between the security officer's eyes. Scott's body, devoid of life from the fatal wound, slumped solidly to the ground.

"Charlie," the leader admonished. "We were talking!"

"Sorry, boss," Charlie quipped with a rakish smirk. He shrugged. "I didn't like his tone."

Their boss guffawed loudly, his laughter resounding off the cliff face over the beach. "Move out," he ordered curtly, turning serious once his mirth had died down.

"What about the loot?" Charlie asked. Some of the riflemen were already pawing at the bodies looking for valuables.

"Leave it," the leader commanded. "Our prize makes jewels and credits look like garbage." He spat on the ground before leading his men away from the slaughter.

The muscular gunman Butch turned crisply and roughly threw Sarah over his shoulder. As the assailants headed back into the forest, they hooted and hollered obscenities in their easy victory. Scott's officers coat fell to the ground, surrounded by the ruin left behind at the beach.

Rose stood paralyzed with fear and disgust on the ridge. She has seen plenty of death in her travels with the Doctor but so far he'd mostly managed to shelter her from carnage like this. Extermination by a Dalek, instant disintegration by lasers, energy weapons, and reality bombs - the deaths in Rose's recent memory were horrible but usually relatively bloodless. She was reminded suddenly of the morbid fascination that took hold of her as she watched the werewolf tear into Captain Reynolds of the royal guard at Torchwood Manor. Even then, the Doctor was there to pull her away before the worst of it. Now, there was nothing but air between her and seven battered bodies on the beach below.

She turned away from the scene of the beach turned graveyard, unable to take the violent display any longer.

" _Rose_ ," Ridgely's voice crackled over the comm. " _Are you there?_ "

She didn't respond at first. The sound seemed distant, dark and ominous like the disembodied voice over another radio on a Sanctuary Base impossibly orbiting a black hole. A voice that told her she was going to die.

" _Rose,_ " he repeated urgently. " _I saw the raiders moving towards the beach. Are you alright?_ "

"I'm here," she answered quietly, her voice shaking as strongly as her hands. "They - they're dead."

" _Who is dead?_ "

" _I saw it,_ " Frank cried woefully. " _They're all dead. Everyone. Everyone who met up at the beach. Oh, shit, they're dead. It's just us._ "

"This is all my fault," Rose sobbed, the tears overtaking her feeble attempt to keep calm. She wanted to be strong, but she was human, as the Doctor so often reminded her. And right now she felt grieved, guilty, and scared as hell. "I chose the rendezvous point. I killed them."

" _You didn't kill them,_ " Ridgely assured her resolutely. " _Those monsters killed them. These weren't their first victims. Where are you now?_ "

"They took Sarah," she recounted gravely.

There was quiet for a moment, the comm fizzling with static.

" _We need to regroup, someplace safer,_ " Ridgely determined.

" _Nowhere is safe,_ " Frank wailed helplessly.

" _Not completely_ ," Ridgely agreed. " _But we know they're monitoring the beaches. We need to stay where there is cover. Up towards the mountain. No clear, open spaces._ "

" _You're not thinking of following them?_ " Frank asked worriedly. " _We can't. They'll get us too._ "

" _One step at a time,_ " Ridgely said brusquely. " _Rose, where are you?_ "

"I'm on a ridge, above the beach."

" _Is there tree coverage there? Enough to conceal you?_ "

"Yeah, a little bit," she replied, surveying her surroundings. "I'm up against the cliff."

" _Good,_ " Ridgely breathed roughly. " _Frank, I want you to go back to camp and look after Erin. Rose, stay where you are. I'm coming to you._ "

Rose gasped at the metallic click of Ridgely switching off his channel on the comm. In a few horrible minutes, the small sense of security gained by the supplies and progress she'd managed yesterday was turned on its head. These raiders weren't just dispatching survivors they came across. They were actively hunting them.

Ridgely wanted to save Sarah. Rose did too; she always wanted to do everything within her power to help. But she couldn't think of a time when the situation seemed so hopeless.

Couldn't he see they were drastically outnumbered? The attackers were heavily armed and well-trained, carrying out the attack in a coordinated, precise manner. They made it look effortless.

She had a sinking feeling that the ambush was just the beginning of the bloodshed to come.

Following Ridgely's instructions, Rose stayed on the ridge. Feeling the chill of the wind blowing in yet another storm, she gathered sticks and dry underbrush to light a small fire. Her still trembling hands made it slow work. She went through the process numbly, forcing her limbs to act out of instinct and desperation to keep warm.

The rain was just starting to drizzle when Ridgely emerged from the brush. She stood from her seat by the fire to face him. He looked as despaired and shaken as she felt. His fine evening wear, so smart and handsome in the ballroom on the ship, now looked strange and out of place, dirty and disheveled as it was.

"Rose." He spoke her name kindly, full of relief at finding her unharmed.

Ridgely crossed the distance between them briskly, sweeping her up into his arms in a comforting embrace. Deprived of human contact for these past frightful days, Rose accepted his consolation greedily. She broke down in his arms, crying into the chest of this man she barely knew.

And yet somehow, she felt she knew him very well. This strong, rational voice that had carried her this far, shared in her grief and terror. This stranger who reached out to to help her without hesitation. This was her Doctor, her father, her Mickey - Ridgely was none of these men and yet he was all of them. The embodiment of a strong, selfless person offering of himself.

Gradually Ridgely sank down to his knees, taking Rose with him. She let him hold her as her body wracked with sobs. He stroked her back gently, shushing her. But never once did he tell her it was going to be alright. He didn't give her any soothing lies, didn't speak at all. Just offered his arms around her and his solid weight to lean against.

When her crying began to calm, he lifted her chin to look at him. "You're a good person, Rose. The Doctor obviously knew that, the way he spoke of you so highly."

"He -" she sniffed, wiping ineffectually at her cheeks, wet now both from tears and rain. "He talked about me?"

Ridgely smiled, an assuring expression despite the solemnity in his eyes that reminded of their dangerous situation. "Of course he did." He rocked back on his heels, taking her hand and helping Rose stand. "You're strong. Even I can see that."

"I'm not, though." Rose gestured to the beach. "I couldn't help them."

"Real strength doesn't lie in surmounting the forces we can't control," he said wisely. "It's picking up and carrying on despite them."

A sudden crack startled them. Ridgely ducked her head into his chest, caging Rose against his body to protect her against the imagined threat. As another, quieter, crackle sounded, they realized it was only a twig snapping in the fire.

"We need to move," Ridgely decided. "You've been here for a while already. They'll be able to see the smoke."

She helped him smother the fire with dirt before following him through the forest towards their camp. The rain started to pick up. Rose felt like she could hear every drop hitting the leaves on their way down, creating an almost musical resonance. She walked closely behind her guide, as visibility lessened with the darkening sky.

"Almost there," Ridgely encouraged after a while.

The trees began to thin as they climbed a small incline. At the bottom of the hill there was a dense thicket of overlapping branches, making a sort of loose, natural shelter against the wind and rain.

Under the low canopy, Erin lay motionless on the ground. Frank's tired form was hunched over beside her. As they approached, the young man slowly lifted his head. Ridgely stopped in his tracks.

"I'm sorry," Frank whined, tears streaming down his cheeks. "She was fine when we left. She said she was fine. But then I got here and - and she was gone."

The husband moved reluctantly, taking the few paces forward with halting steps. He fell to his knees before his wife's body, staring emptily as the rain poured down around them. Ridgely curled himself around her, dropping his head against the chest that would never again rise and fall with Erin's breath. His shoulders shook, but he didn't cry out. Silently, Ridgely wept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter co-authored by my husband, the knight to my spooky. He definitely earned his byline. Also, a great thanks must be paid to my beta, lastincurableromantic. Both of you, thanks for your help and support in telling this story. And thank you to everyone for reading. Feedback welcome.


	8. Last Forever

 

 

_"He showed me the whole of time and space. I thought it would never end."_

* * *

Rose blinked her eyes blearily against the harsh artificial light of the infirmary on the TARDIS. The Doctor rushed into her narrow field of vision, hovering worriedly. She came around slowly, her whole body aching but the worst was the throbbing pain in her head. Despite his protests, she sat up.

"Are you alright?" he asked hurriedly. "How are you feeling?"

She groaned, voice gravelly from unconsciousness. "Head is killing me."

The Doctor turned away, presumably searching for an appropriate treatment. The brainy specs of emotional objectivity had once again made their appearance on his face. He opened a jar of what she remembered as an analgesic and smoothed the clear gel in a thin smear on her forehead.

"Thanks," she murmured gratefully.

It was nice to have the luxury of painkillers again. During her time stranded, she had to bear through the hurt without the aid of medicine. Though, if Rose were to be honest, his calm presence was almost as soothing as the balm tingling on her skin.

"Better?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah."

The Doctor replaced the lid and put the jar away. In contrast to his otherwise clinical demeanor, when he turned back he took her hand, tracing circles on the skin below her knuckles.

Slowly, he raised his head to meet her eyes. "I looked away for a moment and then you collapsed."

"Must've been the heat," Rose surmised, still a bit groggy. "Or maybe I'm just hungry."

"I don't think so," he replied solemnly.

Both were fairly plausible explanations but the Doctor didn't find any signs of heat stroke, exhaustion, or extreme hunger. This appeared to be something in her psyche. She was clearly suffering from post-traumatic stress and possibly more.

"We need to go back," she declared suddenly, as she came back to herself a little more. "Something's wrong. At the park. Did you talk to the gypsy?"

He regarded her worriedly. "Rose, something is wrong with _you_. We need to figure that out first."

"I'm fine," she dismissed easily. "Doctor, this is important, did you talk to the gypsy fortune teller? Did you tell her my name?"

"No," he confirmed. "I was on the other side. I didn't see her."

"She knew things about me. Stuff she couldn't have just made up."

The Doctor held her eyes intently. "What kinds of things?"

"Just -" she hesitated. "Stuff. We've gotta check her out."

"Rose," he breathed wearily, squeezing her bicep for emphasis. "I can't help you if you hide from me. You need to tell me what's going on."

"Doctor," she exhaled roughly, matching his exasperated tone. "I'm telling you. It's the gypsy, we need to find her."

She held his gaze fixedly, a battle of wills manifest in a deliberate staring contest. He would have been impressed with her apparent ability to force her eyes not to blink if he wasn't so troubled by her condition.

The Doctor knew he was in the right. Rose was exhibiting disconcerting symptoms and her mental and physical health needed to be addressed first and foremost. But if this mysterious gypsy woman truly did tap into personal knowledge that should have been inaccessible to her, that was also a serious cause for concern. The need to care for Rose and the want to solve the puzzle of the disappearances warred within him.

Rose's eyes narrowed dangerously but never shut. After a while, it was clear she wasn't backing down.

He sighed, lifting his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration. "I need you to promise me something. Say we go figure out what's going on with the fortune teller and the disappearances at the park. Then you have to promise me we're going to talk. I need you to tell me what happened."

Rose frowned. She didn't want to talk about her time on the island but she knew the Doctor wasn't going to let it go. She had to give him something.

"Fine," she acquiesced finally.

"And before we go back, I do want you to eat something."

She nodded earnestly. On that, at least, they were agreed.

 

* * *

 

It was late at night when they exited the TARDIS again and the park was long since closed. Rose and the Doctor took a detailed sweep of the rides and the booths but found no one hanging around. The park was admittedly creepy when empty but didn't appear to be the least bit suspicious.

Their ambling eventually led down from the pier to the beach. The quiet that befell their walk was comfortable against the backdrop of Pacific waves lapping at the shore. Rose stopped a little ways from the pier, tugging on his hand and inviting him to sit with her. She plopped down on the sand, knees tucked under her chin as she gazed out over the water.

"It's bright," Rose remarked distantly. "Nights were so dark there."

Light pollution. Skyglow caused by light reflecting and escaping into the sky, being scattered and redirected by the atmosphere back down toward the ground. A result of the light clutter and over-illumination so prominent in the modern world. It was less here in this decade than it would be in her time. But still significantly more than on the primitive Amalfi Six.

All these things were on the tip of his tongue to say. But instead he just watched her. His hearts faltered in their rhythmic beat.

"They're so different," she said, craning her neck to look up at the dark sky. "I almost forgot what our stars looked like, I've seen so many now."

She glanced over at him briefly and he was sure she was only met with a blank face. Because here was Rose, telling him about the stars. Letting him see the cosmos, that vast emptiness of space that had become his home when his own birthplace was lost to time and war and destruction, through her eyes. He was enthralled.

She rolled onto her back to spare her straining neck, cradling her head in the curve of her elbow.

"I made up constellations," she continued. "They all had stories. There was a werewolf, of course. He was always close to the moon. That little blue moon, so far away but really bright. And I found the Face of Boe, too. Closer to the horizon, never rising very far. I looked for a TARDIS but the stars were never quite right. There were words, though, in your language, all circles and lines like on the screen on the console. Even if I didn't know what they meant."

It was beautiful, the chronicle of their travels that she wove together in her loneliness. She was beautiful; softened feminine features unobscured by make-up and unbleached hair styled by the wind. And something deeper, so much more than her natural physical attractiveness. Rose was clever and imaginative. Broken but so very strong. She gave him hope for his own old, broken soul.

He loved the way she always managed to find peace in even the most dire circumstances. He loved her, a frightening realization he still hadn't properly come to terms with yet. He wanted to show her what she meant to him, how devastated he had been when he thought she was gone and how infinitely happy he was that she was here with him now.

He wanted to tell her. There were so many things he wanted to say and to ask. But he didn't. Not now, not when she was just starting to open up to him again.

The Doctor lay back, settling in the sand beside her.

"What's that one?" he asked, pointing toward a cluster of stars.

"That's Orion," she deadpanned, turning her head and giving him a funny look.

He scoffed, looking thoroughly affronted. "I know it's -" She giggled mischievously and he rolled his eyes at her mirth. "You're supposed to make something up. One of your beautiful stories."

Rose shifted her head back to look up at the constellation.

"He's a warrior," she began quietly. "But he doesn't like to fight. He's got this sword, but it's not really a sword. It's more like this noisy, glowing Swiss Army knife of all-purposeness."

She chanced a look at him, then, and he looked vaguely insulted on behalf of the sonic screwdriver undoubtedly burning a hole in his jacket pocket. Rose offered a gentle smile, recompense for any perceived offense.

"He's very powerful, this warrior," Rose elaborated. "And people think he's very lonely because he doesn't have a home. But sometimes I wonder if he wouldn't prefer it on his own. He's a hero, you see. Always saving people and when he protects all the little villages they offer him women and wine. And he smiles and chats them up for a little while, but then gets back in his magical box and flies away."

"Rose," he croaked hoarsely, voice choked with emotion. "Did you really believe -" He swallowed down his hesitation. "Did you think I wouldn't find you?"

She was silent for a moment, just staring up at the sky. "I didn't know what to believe. You were gone. I had to accept that."

"You must know I wouldn't prefer to be alone," he said seriously. He reached into the space between them, finding her hand and entwining his fingers with hers. "I would never have asked you to come if I didn't want you traveling with me."

"But now you're stuck with me," she grumbled. "You don't have a choice."

He turned on his side to regard her more closely. "You said you made your choice," the Doctor murmured soberly. "In the lever room at Canary Wharf. Do you regret that?"

The Doctor had tricked her into the TARDIS at the GameStation and sent her away with only a holographic pre-recorded message for apology. Rose, in turn, had looked into the heart of the TARDIS and came back to him. As he just admitted, he'd conspired with her parallel father to send her across dimensions to another world 'for her own safety' at Canary Wharf. Rose had come back to him again. He left her in the ballroom of a sinking ship, and she'd fought every day to survive, clinging to the foolish hope that they would somehow be reunited.

After everything they'd been through, all the times she'd clawed her way back to him, she couldn't believe he have the nerve to question whether she wanted to stay.

"Are you seriously asking me if I regret staying with you because I got stranded on a dangerous planet for a year? No." Rose pulled her hand back and sat up suddenly. "You don't get to do this."

The Doctor followed, sitting up quickly. "Do what?"

"Forever," she asserted. "That's what I said. Do you remember?"

"Of course."

"Well, I meant it." she told him.

He also remembered the giddy smile on her face and the warmth of her hand in his after she'd said it. He wished he could get these things back now. This conversation had started out so well and yet somewhere along the way had gone so very wrong.

"Is that what you want?" She licked the sea salt from her lips. "Still?"

She fixed him with her stare, daring him to look away, but he met her eyes unflinchingly.

"Yes," he replied in a thin but resolute voice.

She nodded, turning her head back out toward the sea and running her tongue over her front teeth thoughtfully.

"Then don't ask me stupid questions like that," she retorted.

Rose stood, brushing the sand from the back of her thighs.

"Wait," the Doctor protested, standing and maneuvering himself in her path. "Rose, you can't keep shutting me out. You're too -" he faltered. "You're -"

"What am I?" she spat, advancing toward him and standing her ground. "Some girl you like traveling with but not well enough to let her in on your grand plans? Someone you feel obligated to fix because she's lost everyone else she loved? Someone you can't bear to finish sentences around if they reveal what you actually think about her?"

"I -" he stuttered lamely.

"That's what I thought."

She was turning to walk away and he couldn't let that happen. He felt the divide between them growing until the chasm would be too wide to breach. He couldn't lose her again. But she wanted words he wasn't ready to give. Proof of the meaning she held in his hearts. The Doctor frantically searched his vast, whirling mind for the right words and came up short.

Impulsively, functioning on a dazed autopilot influenced by this whole surreal night, he whirled her around to face him and crashed his mouth down to hers. She let out a surprised squeak against his lips.

Oh. Well. That was impressively stupid. And yet also a little bit brilliant. Because now he was kissing Rose Tyler on a California beach under the stars.

At first, Rose made no move to push him away nor to encourage him. The urge was there. An intense desire to ignore sense and her newfound independence and just go with it. She had waited four long years for this, after all. Imagined it, even in her darkest hours.

But then again, the horrific memories of her nightmare on the island flashed through her mind. The wounds were still raw. She held so much anger and fear in her heart from those terrible days. And now, entwined with him, just as she always wanted, the guilt washed over her. What had she done to deserve this honor?

Drowning in her own internal conflict, Rose pulled away abruptly. Before she could find breath to speak, he gently pulled her to him, dropping his forehead against hers. His fingers shook almost imperceptibly as they framed her face. He was so close, when he spoke his breath blew across her chin.

"Please, don't go."

The Doctor pulled away, regarding her intently in the darkness. His eyes were pleading. This vulnerability was admittedly endearing, but Rose also found it was a little bit unnerving, to see him stripped down without his usual defenses. Her earlier anger began to ebb, like a dying fire devoid of fuel.

"Stay," he entreated quietly.

She schooled him with a serious expression, making her uncertainty known, but nonetheless nodded her assent. He watched as his hand took her hand, threading their fingers together as they ought to be. Slowly, he pulled her down to sit beside him without further comment. They sat there for a while, side by side, staring out over the crashing surf.

"For a Time Lord, you have the worst possible timing in the universe," she muttered dryly.


	9. Mercy

_"You did that," she says presumptuously, nodding her head to the television screen._

_The Doctor looks up from the news telecast continuing its coverage of the downfall of Harriet Jones. Rose is rubbing her hands up and down her arms for warmth and her hair is still wet from the ashen snow falling outside._

_"Whatever you said to her assistant," she continues, sitting next to him on the couch._

_He takes the throw behind them and drapes it gently over her shoulders, drawing a grateful smile despite the seriousness of her question._

_"She killed them," he replies simply._

_"An' you were going to let them go. But..." She chews her lip thoughtfully. She doesn't want to upset him, isn't sure how this new Doctor will react. But Rose has never been one to withhold her thoughts. "Do you think she was right? About them coming back? I mean, the Gelth, the Slitheen, and now the Sycorax. Eventually even you won't be able to talk your way out of it."_

_She's eyeing him carefully. His gaze holding her eyes is intense and Rose is afraid she's stepped too far. But suddenly he breaks it, reaching for her hand._

_"Is that what we do, then," the Doctor wonders aloud, watching as his fingers entwine with hers. "When someone threatens us? We just blow them up."_

_"No, I didn't mean that," she jumps in quickly. "That was wrong. It's just - what you said, about the Earth being defended. We're not always here. Couldn't there be, I dunno, something in between?"_

_His eyebrows rise questioningly. "Between obliterating every alien that comes near the planet and what?"_

_"Never mind," she mumbles. She turns away, suddenly bashful. "'S stupid."_

_"It's not stupid, Rose," he affirms seriously, grabbing her chin gently and turning her face back toward him. "Are you afraid?"_

_"No," she assures him. "'Cause you're always gonna be here to make it right, aren't you?"_

_"Oh, not just me." The Doctor grins, growing more cheerful. "Me and you, the old team. Defending the Earth. Yeah?"_

_Rose returns his smile, brushing aside any lingering doubts. "Yeah."_

* * *

 

Digging this unfamiliar ground in the rain, all wet slippery mud, would be no easy task even with proper shovels. With only broken branches for a tool, it was nearly impossible. Rose and Frank went through the motions mechanically, using their solid sticks in a losing battle against the thick sludge. When the trench was just starting to form, Frank broke down, sinking to the ground in tears.

"Frank," Rose said softly, reaching out her hand to grasp his shoulder. "It's not your fault."

"What does it matter?" he sobbed. "We'll all end up the same. We're never getting off this planet alive."

"You don't know that."

"Don't you see?" Frank pointed vaguely in the direction of the beach. "Those guys out there are professionals. They obliterated everyone on the beach in minutes. The ship's down at the bottom of the ocean and no one knows we're here."

"The Doctor knows," Rose stated confidently. "He'll come for us."

Frank sniffed, wiping his face ineffectually on his wet sleeve. "How?"

"He's got this ship," she began, returning to her task of moving wet earth from the trench. "It travels in space and time. The TARDIS. It can go anywhere. He'll definitely find us."

"So we can go back," he surmised haltingly as he half-heartedly returned to his task.

Rose furrowed her brows in question. "Back?"

"To before the ship sank," Frank clarified. "Prevent all those people from dying and getting hurt."

"Oh," Rose realized sadly. "No... well, it doesn't really work like that."

The young man looked up, studying her closely through the rain. "You said it could travel in time."

"Yeah." Rose tilted her head thoughtfully, an unconsciously Doctor-ish gesture. "But there are rules."

Frank halted in his task. "Why wouldn't he want to save all those people?"

"He would…"

"And all those survivors on the beach!" he bellowed, growing more frantic.

Rose shushed him, hoping to quiet the young man. "Shh, calm down. Don't upset Ridgely."

She nodded her head back in the direction of camp where Ridgely was still grieving over the body of his wife.

Frank grimaced, shoving his stick down hard into the mud. He continued, softly. "What kind of doctor wouldn't want to save people?"

"He does," she protested emphatically. "There's just... there are rules he has to follow. Time traveller rules. He didn't make 'em up. If he doesn't follow them bad things happen."

"Worse than a shipwreck?" he muttered bitterly. "Worse than a massacre on a beach?"

"Well," Rose said after a deep breath. "Time starts unraveling bit by bit, until everything in the universe is gone, so yeah."

Frank scoffed. "You don't sound convinced."

"It almost happened once," she answered darkly. "These monsters came and started just... blinking people out of existence. I'm pretty convinced."

The young man didn't really have a reply to that. With nothing more to say, the two continued with their work in silence.

Erin's grave was shallow. Just a superficial ditch in the saturated ground, marked by two sticks propped against one another to form an 'X' rather than a cross. Rose wasn't sure about religions or beliefs in these times, so she didn't question it. Ridgely didn't say any words, just kneeled by the graveside with his head bowed low. Rose and Frank stood on the other side, solemnly matching his silence.

Standing still, the cold of the rain and the night began to seep into their skin. It wasn't long before all three of them were shivering.

"Come on," Ridgely said finally. "Let's go back."

There was a healthy pile of mostly dry timber in the makeshift shelter. With her fire starter, it wasn't long before they had a small campfire. Rose wondered about Ridgely's background based on his preparedness. By all accounts, he looked to be a wealthy, decidedly indoor gentleman, but after seeing so many different worlds and peoples, she knew better than to judge by appearances alone.

What edibles Ridgely had managed to collect, he shared. Rose was hesitant based on her first experience with the island's vegetation, but both men assured her that they had eaten these particular foods before without getting sick. Apparently, the flora here was similar enough to New Earth for them to distinguish what was poisonous to humans.

She chose a hard-shelled fruit that resembled a coconut. Following Frank's instruction, she smashed the shell open with a rock to reveal the soft meat inside which was fluffy like a marshmallow and very mild. Still hungry, Rose also opted for some dry inner bark with the texture of jerky and the taste of sugar cane.

When they were nearly finished their small meal, Ridgely spoke.

"The raiders have a stronghold on a hill near the mountain's face to the south," he told them. "Eri- we passed it on the way inland."

"We can't go after them," Frank insisted. "They'll kill us."

"Frank," Ridgely began, his voice straining with the effort to be calm. "Think of all that we have lost today. The dead have passed on, but we are still alive. Sarah is still alive. It is our duty to offer our help to her, as we have helped one another."

"That's bullshit!" Frank shouted, springing up suddenly. "Sarah's nice and all, but she got caught. We can't risk our lives to save her."

"And what would you have us do?" Ridgely barked, standing to his full height to look down on the younger man. "Sit here trading sob stories, do nothing, and just let her get killed?"

"We're not the killers, they are. It's no use letting them kill us either. It's suicide."

"Stop it!" Rose snapped. "Both of you, this is pointless."

Both men whipped their heads around to look at her. Her command seemed to sink in but did nothing to lighten the tension in the air.

"This isn't what I signed up for when I met up with you guys," Frank spat angrily. "You want to get yourselves killed? Fine. I want to live."

With that, Frank stormed off alone into the forest.

After a tense moment of silence, Rose stood. "I'll go after him. Bring him back."

Ridgely sighed heavily. "Rose, this is between myself and Frank. There's no need to put yourself in the middle."

"I'm not," she assured him quickly. "It's just no one should be alone out there."

He smiled vaguely. "Thank you."

He crossed the small space under the shelter to the sparse collection of tools gathered from the wreckage. Curious, Rose followed, stepping behind him as he stooped down to grab something from the pile.

"It's dangerous," Ridgely said. He handed her a sturdy fire axe. The bottom of the wooden handle was broken off, but otherwise the tool looked intact. "Take this. Do you have your radio?"

"Yeah." She took the axe from him and twisted her hips to tap the comm clipped to her belt in demonstration. "But I don't think Frank took his."

"When you find him, be sure you stick together. He couldn't have gone far. Hurry back." Ridgely thought to himself for a moment, then added, "If you see anyone else, don't approach them. Just keep hidden."

Rose nodded her understanding. "I will."

"Be careful," he said finally.

"I'll be back soon."

She tried for a reassuring smile and turned towards the direction Frank went into the forest. Afraid to attract the attention of the raiders, Rose didn't call out to the young man. She walked carefully and quietly through the trees, keeping as sharp an eye as she could through the darkness and the rain. The situation seemed a bit futile once she thought about it. But she tried to put herself in Frank's shoes, and if it were her, even angry she wouldn't have gone very far from relative safety. So she had to hope.

Rose was so focused on scanning the woods for any sign of the wayward survivor that she didn't see the steep slope she was approaching. Suddenly she stepped forward and was met with air instead of ground. Unable to right herself in the slippery mud, she fell, tumbling down the incline through the underbrush. As she fell, she drew one arm up protectively around her head out of instinct. She extended the other hand away from her body, desperately trying to hold onto the fire axe Ridgely had entrusted to her. Small briars and thorns tore at her hands and parts of her exposed face, opening multiple small lacerations.

When she reached to bottom she was still for a moment, gathering her bearings. Rose lay flat on her back, looking around and making certain that she could still hear and see.

As she raised her left hand to check that she could recognize the number of fingers, she had to shake her head to make certain that the sliver of wood passing through the space between her thumb and index was really there. She turned her wrist back and forth seeing that the sliver of wood had passed all the way through. Sitting up and gritting her teeth she pulled it free with a pained grunt. With her palm turned up, the rain stung the fresh wound like acid. Pulling a handkerchief from her pocket, she wrapped up the wound.

She winced in pain and sat up on her haunches, fighting against the instinct to stop and rest. The sting of the lacerations and the ache of fresh bruises caught up with her body as her pulse returned to normal. Rose stood slowly, taking a few hesitant steps. She moved each limb experimentally, making sure nothing was sprained or broken. She was lucky, just tousled and not seriously injured.

She stopped dead when she heard a low growling from the shadows. Two menacing orbs flashed at her through the darkness.

The wolf emerged from the bush across the small clearing at the bottom of the hill. She watched the creature carefully, not daring to move. The hairs on its back weren't fur, but spines like a porcupine, sharp and glimmering dangerously in the rainy night. Needle-like spines, long teeth bared threateningly, and luminous red eyes made for a frightening picture. The beast gave a low continuous rumble from the back of its throat in warning, sizing up Rose as its prey of choice.

In a blink of her eyes the wolf was gone. Rose's sigh of relief turned into a gasp as she realized the creature hadn't left, but moved, behind her with incredible speed. The only warning she received before the wolf pounced was a menacing snarl.

Rose spun around to see the red eyes of the wolf in mid-air. She had just enough time to cross her arms protectively in front of her face.

The weight of the animal knocked her down and the axe fell from her grip. The ground seemed to rush up to meet her, the breath knocked from her lungs on impact. The dull thud of pain momentarily dulled her senses. They were shocked back to vivid clarity as the wolf's teeth sunk into her forearm. The leather jacket provided a small bit of protection but not enough to prevent a red bubbling of blood to rise up and stain Rose's sleeve. Her anguished scream tore loudly into the night, echoing through the trees and disturbing several birds from their nesting place.

The wolf shook its head from side to side, its teeth still lodged in her flesh. She let her arm go limp, in the hopes of preventing its bite from shredding the pierced skin. As the wolf directed its focus on her arm, she reached her other hand out beside her, groping desperately for the axe. When she found it, she jammed the splintered end hard into the soft flesh at the side of the creature's neck. The wolf leapt back in pain and released her arm, jerking violently to dislodge from the weapon.

Free for a precious moment, Rose was smacked by the odor of earth and blood. The wolf swung it head around erupting with an angry growl. Rose swore she could feel the creature's frustration at being tricked.

The wolf jumped forward again, opening its jaws for what Rose felt certain would be the kill. Holding the axe between both her hands, she angled the handle to catch the wolf's deadly bite in the same way it latched onto her arm before. With a strength that must have come from adrenaline, she held the handle fast, keeping creature's jaws the last few terrifying inches from reaching her. The heat of its rotten breath puffed in her face.

She was at a loss for what to do next. The wolf would surely let go of the handle in the next instant and lunge again for her fragile neck. She'd be dead. Resigned to her fate, Rose was surprised when a heavy rock hit the creature from behind. The wolf turned its attention from her, turning quickly to determine the source of this new attack.

Standing a few feet away among the dark shadows of the trees was Frank. He hurled another sizable rock at the wolf, yelling and flailing his arms in an attempt to distract the beast. Taking the advantage, Rose swung the pick-shaped back point of the axe into the wolf's shoulder, dusted lightly with sparse fur and unprotected by the spiny needles rising from its back. She pulled the weapon along the creature's side, still lodged in its flesh, opening the wound.

The injury was grave but not immediately fatal. The wolf sputtered and shook its head with the effort of working through the pain. As it made ready to charge Rose again, Frank, with both hands and a forceful exhalation of breath, hurled a rock the size of a beach ball at the wolf. Luck was with him as it struck one of the creature's hind legs. The beast let out a loud yelp as it dropped to the ground. Even crippled, the wolf was still dragging itself towards Rose, towards its perceived attacker. Frank stepped up behind the slowly writhing wolf with a final jagged stone. He smashed the stone heavily onto the wolf, the blunt force pinning it to the ground.

Spent and slick with blood, the creature didn't try to get up, it simply whined dismally. It was panting hoarsely, slowly fading from the sum of its wounds. Rose felt pity for the creature even through the fear of being its victim. Rose had only one thing to offer the dying wolf. Mercy.

With great effort she rose up on shaky legs, holding the axe over her head for the leverage to swing down. She feared the picture she must make in this darkened forest, cold executioner with her weapon readied for the death blow. Turning to expose the curved head of the axe, she dropped the blade down, cutting deeply into the wolf's neck and silencing its labored breath.

The deed done, Rose looked down on the corpse sadly. She had seen so many different creatures in her travels across the universe. Most were sentient and incredibly intelligent, some beautiful, others incredibly friendly and welcoming, and a few very, very evil. This creature was none of those things, just an innocent predator acting on instinct.

Frank looked on from beside her, gone still in his shock. "It almost killed you."

"Well, it didn't," she said firmly, as though trying to convince even herself of that fact. "We're still alive."

"But if I hadn't found you," he sniveled quietly. "I heard you scream."

"You saved me," she realized. Rose turned to face him. "Thanks."

"Yeah," Frank breathed dazedly.

"You know Ridgely's right," she ventured.

He sniffed, frowning impudently. "I know."

"Good." She nodded resolutely and took a deep breath. "Let's go."

As the adrenaline began to fade from her system, the exhaustion set in. Fatigue built up from the harrowing emotions of the day, her intense physical battle with the wolf, and the blood loss suffered at the beast's strong bite. Rose turned in the direction she came from, starting the weary walk back to their camp.


	10. Who is She

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really must thank littlewhomouse of tumblr fame, my fabulous beta lastincurableromantic, and my man writer knight for making this chapter happen. I could not have done it without their help. A big thanks to you also for reading! You may recognize some of the dialogue from the 1948 film noir The Lady from Shanghai.

_"But if that's Rose Tyler, who is she?"_

* * *

 

Rose chalked the last night's impulsive kiss up to desperation and temporary insanity on the Doctor's part. All signs pointed to her being right, as this morning things had returned to normal... or whatever you called this ever-present tension that hung in the air since her return.

She was eating breakfast in the kitchen when he appeared, so quietly she didn't even notice him in the doorway until he finally spoke.

"May I join you?"

"'S your TARDIS," she mumbled a bit grumpily, throwing in a casual shrug. He made no move forward and she sighed, relenting. "Yeah, of course. Water's still hot. You want tea?"

"Had some," he answered simply. Then added with a wan smile, "Thanks."

Rose nodded in return, not really sure on what topic to venture forward. He strode towards her slowly; the scrape of the chair as he pulled it from the table seemed deafeningly loud against the silence of the room. She was almost relieved once he was still, sitting across from her.

The Doctor had a theory, a hope, really, that there was another way he could try to get through to her.

"Te semble mejor oggi," he said, deliberately blocking the translation matrix for both of them.

For a moment she just stared at him blankly and he thought he'd guessed wrong and had better explain. Then she answered.

"Yo sono, un po. Grazia."

He nodded resolutely, exhaling a breath held in anticipation. Rose confirmed his suspicions; she'd picked up the regional dialect from natives on the island, a bastardized mixture of Spanish, French, and Italian. To him, the shared Latin root made the language nearly indistinguishable from English, but to Rose it must have been a completely foreign tongue.

"So you weren't alone," he remarked thoughtfully. "That dialect was used over a century before you were stranded there. The natives were supposed to all be long gone."

"Well, obviously they were still there," Rose snapped, already displeased with the current trajectory of this conversation.

"Rose," the Doctor breathed, almost pleading. "You said you'd talk to me."

"After we find the gypsy," she retorted, taking a big bite of toast to signal the discussion was over.

* * *

According to plan, they returned to the park right after breakfast. The weather was brilliant and sunny again, but it was a weekday so attendance was even scarcer than the day before. There was absolutely no sign of the gypsy woman. Rose circled the middle section of the midway three times, peeking around every corner, between every booth.

"I don't understand," she said finally, standing in the very spot where she had collapsed. "We were right here yesterday."

"I didn't see her, Rose. And it doesn't look like there's a fortune telling stall. Maybe..." His voice trailed off indecisively.

"Maybe, what?" she growled, anger riling at the implication of his unfinished statement.

"Well," he began, tugging absently on his earlobe, an easily recognizable nervous habit. "You said you spoke to her just before you collapsed. Maybe it was just  _after_  you collapsed."

"I didn't make her up," Rose insisted fervently. "She was standing right over there. I talked to her. She was real."

The hand worrying his ear moved back to ruffle the hair at his neck. "I'm sure she was real to you."

"I can't even..." Rose shook her head as though trying to brush off his words. Then she fixed him with a fiery glare. "You don't believe me."

"No," he protested firmly. "I didn't say that. I believe you saw what you thought you saw."

"But not that she was here," she proposed.

His averted gaze and continued hair-ruffling told her all she needed to know.

"Fine," she resolved. "You keep chasing nothing. I'm gonna find her."

She turned and started to brush past him toward the rest of the midway.

"Rose," he called wearily, reaching out a hand to grab her arm.

Rose shifted sharply, backing away from his hands. "Just stop."

The Doctor watched as she dissolved into the crowd, weaving her way through the families until her form was lost in the wash of people.

* * *

Rose was determined to find the gypsy woman. She started on 'the domestic approach,' as the Doctor called it, questioning the other vendors and employees to no avail. She was discouraged to say the least; her resolve began falter as morning turned into afternoon and afternoon into twilight. Tired and frustrated, she sat down heavily on an empty bench.

It wouldn't have been so bad if the Doctor had just taken her seriously. This time he didn't. Rose could tell because she knew what it looked like when he did; the sonic came out, theories were rambled off into the air, evidence was taken back to the TARDIS to be processed, and of course there was always a good bit of running, all of it done with hands held and mouths smiling - together. But silent fidgeting and worried faces where he couldn't even  _look_  at her was definitely not taking her seriously.

Rose closed her eyes and leaned back with a sigh, rubbing her temples in a futile attempt to prevent the headache threatening to overtake her. She remembered hunger being a possible factor in these headaches and walked over to a nearby food vendor to order her old familiar comfort food as 'french fries.'

Returning to the lonely bench with her snack, a suspiciously curious seagull screeched and flew by dangerously low. On its second pass, he managed to nab one of the chips from her hand, but dropped it from his beak as she shooed him away with a violent flail of her arm. The bird flew away with an angry cry of complaint at having lost his stolen treasure.

Staring grumpily after the bird, Rose thought she saw movement out of the corner of her eye as she discarded the last few chips in the rubbish bin. She caught a whiff of incense in the air. Ahead of her was a section of the boardwalk closed off with a chain link fence and a sign that read in large red letters 'CLOSED FOR REPAIRS.'

The colorful flags that hung overhead between the lights were dingy in comparison in the rest of the park. A breeze picked up and Rose could hear a loose board somewhere slapping loudly in the wind. With her arms crossed to ward off a chill, she watched a faded flyer depicting a cartoon mascot tumble in the wind. There! Rose glimpsed the gypsy beside a broken and abandoned popcorn booth, flicking a cigarette butt away. Before Rose could call out, the woman disappeared though the passage between defunct rides.

Hurriedly Rose dashed to the fence, just barely squeezing through between two loose posts. She sprinted to the corner where she saw the gypsy woman escape. Ahead of her, she saw the shadow in the fading light, as Rose followed the shadow retreated and she gave chase, running and jumping now, dodging fallen steel rods and wooden cutouts broken on the ground.

The shadow ducked into what looked to be an old funhouse, so Rose pursued through the open doorway. She ran through the hallway and ended up in a mirror maze. The dim glow of twilight scattered and refracted, giving her a dizzy, disoriented feeling that slammed the distant twinges of a headache back into full force.

Rose took a step forward. A heavenly visage stared back at her in triplicate, fractured by the tilted mirrors before her. That golden glow, the determined countenance of a vengeful goddess. This was Rose as the Bad Wolf, imbued with the power of the Vortex. Beautiful and terrible, a moment in time the Doctor only spoke of with grave reluctance.

_"I want you safe, my Doctor."_

Another step, she met a different face. Her image reached even more of the mirrors now, multiplying down the long row ahead of her. A flash of pink and yellow; the old zip-up hoodie and shiny lip gloss, long blond hair and big silver hoops, dark eyes and even darker mascara. Rose Tyler at nineteen, the shop girl who didn't know she was waiting for the Doctor to come running into her life that very day.

_"You'd be dead if it wasn't for me."_

She took another few steps, now faced with the image she didn't dare to look at in the mirror before. A wash of dingy and muted colors, torn clothing and tangled locks, a patchwork of scars and the sharp eyes of a hunter. This was herself, just a few short days ago when the Doctor finally found her. Lupa, the natives had called her, the she-wolf. A woman broken and reformed into something stronger, fiercer, darker.

_"Too late. I rescued myself."_

Rose stumbled forward, no longer able to look into that predatory stare. The images scattered all around her, so many different echoes and reflections of her past selves.

A cheeky blonde in a Union Jack asking the Doctor for a dance.

_"I trust him 'cause he's like you."_

One brave time-traveling human wearing denim and gray and speaking for the whole planet.

_"Someone's got to be the Doctor."_

Rose Tyler on the worst day of her life, stuck between losing her family or losing the Doctor.

_"If these are gonna be my last words then you're gonna listen."_

Different colors, sounds and textures, but not only that. The words and feelings - hope, anger, fear, and excitement - her whole life with the Doctor laid bare in a moving jungle of outfits, hairstyles, and a gradually changing body. A face that was aging but also hardening, becoming someone else with each passing day.

_"There'll be this woman, this strange woman walking through the marketplace. On some planet a billion miles from Earth. But she's not Rose Tyler. Not anymore. She's not even human."_

And scattered amongst the myriad reflections, the gypsy woman appeared, dark and shadowed with the veil still covering her face. This was a trap. Too late Rose realized and she was already caught in the snare. The only way to go was forward.

"One who follows his nature keeps his original nature in the end," the gypsy drawled cryptically.

"Who are you?" Rose called out clearly, her voice resounding in the labyrinth of mirrored surfaces.

"You're big and strong," the gypsy woman purred. "You just don't know how to take care of yourself. So how could you take care of me?"

Rose shook her head, trying to cast off the images and voices floating around her. The reflection of the gypsy shifted, moving closer, flickering in and out of her own faces all around her.

"What are you doing on Earth?" Rose tried again.

The gypsy moved closer still, reflected images of her form flashing in the mirrors around them.

"You feel it, don't you? The pain of just being alive?"

Rose gathered a deep breath, reaching to a place deep inside herself for logic and reason. "Listen, if you need help, we can help you. The Doctor, he knows..."

The gypsy woman stepped through the mirror ahead of her and into the empty space in front of Rose.

"Oh, you're going to help me. Rose Tyler."

There was something off about the woman, something different from the day before. Rose reached up quickly, snatching the veil that obscured the woman's face. Dark features that were once smooth and young were now old and wrinkled - and not just that, the woman's face was starting to look desiccated, as though the life had been sucked right out of her.

"It's you," Rose said in a shaky voice. "But you've gotten older. It's only been a day."

The gypsy woman grabbed Rose's wrists, holding tight enough to bruise.

Rose struggled, yanking her arms roughly and stumbling backward. "Get off!"

She tried to put up a fight but felt as though her strength was draining right out of her bones, the gypsy's hold claiming both body and mind at the same time. Rose had one last coherent thought all her own, something about  _really_  not wanting to black out again.

But then, of course, her world went dark.


	11. Predator

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the wait! This chapter brought to you by the invaluable help of knight. Also thanks to my incredible beta, lastincurableromantic. And thank you to everyone reading and suffering the long wait.
> 
> WARNING: This chapter contains violent content and a scene of attempted rape. If these things are triggering for you or too unpleasant for your taste, you may want to skip this update.

_"Well, they're off," the Doctor says. "The remaining crew of the Sanctuary Base, on their way home."_

_An unnecessary narration to fill the darkened silence of the console room, to lighten the heavy coldness that's settled into Rose's heart._

_She swallows, squeezes her eyes shut, and holds in an unsteady breath. She's afraid to tell him. But perhaps more afraid of letting him find out on his own; at least from her lips, the sin would be acknowledged._

_"I killed him." Rose doesn't turn to face him, just lets the words hang in the chilly air of the recovering TARDIS. "Toby… I…"_

_She trails off into a stifled sob, and the Doctor turns her around to face him._

_"Rose, he was already gone. The person that Toby was had already disappeared."_

_Rose shakes her head, blinking against the tears that threaten to fall. "I know, but…"_

_"You did what you had to do." He squeezes her shoulders in a gesture of comfort. "To survive. You saved Zachary and Danny. And if Toby had returned with all of you… who knows what could have happened."_

_She nods, then braves a look into his eyes. "But do you still…" Rose licks her lips nervously. "I mean, you don't hate me now, do you?"_

_The Doctor's eyes widen at her assumption. Then he closes them, sighs, and presses a kiss to her hairline._

_"Rose." He leans his forehead down against hers. "Far be it from me to judge you for doing what you must to survive. I know I've done the same." The Doctor takes a deep breath. Lets it out. "When there was no other choice. I did the same."_

* * *

 

Rose awoke to sunlight filtering in through the branches of their shelter, an abrupt change from the constant rain of the past few days. She shielded her eyes from the unwelcome intruder. With the constant haze that had surrounded her, induced by the improvised plant-based antibiotic given to her by Ridgely, she found that the light seemed to pierce through her senses. As she blinked her eyes a few times, adjusting, she found sounds filtering in bit by bit as well: the singing of a bird outside on a nearby branch, and the sound of the surf breaking on the beach in the far distance. She moved her fingers experimentally, wincing only slightly at the result. Deciding to test herself further, she gingerly eased her arm out of the sling, finding that she could almost rotate her shoulder completely without a shot of intense pain.

Slowly she rose to her feet and found that she could stand without wobbling. The canvas flap, recently affixed to the shelter, opened and she watched a silhouette enter. "You're awake...and on your feet. You must be hungry." Ridgely stated the last more to get her attention than as a statement of fact, testing her ability to speak.

"Actually, I'm fam..." Rose's words were cut short by a loud grumble from her stomach. Ridgely smiled, and Rose blushed. "Famished," she finished sheepishly. "I'm surprised how hungry I am."

"Good. That means you are getting your strength back. I'm sorry, I'm afraid we only have fruit, but I'll give you a double helping." Rose hoped Ridgely did not mean to give her his portion. They had to be running low on supplies. "Now come outside. We need to change your bandages."

Ridgely unwrapped the bandages, surprised to find would nearly closed up and scabbed over. "You'll have a nasty scar."

After their meal, Rose excused herself to take care of some business and wash up in a nearby stream. The cool water felt heavenly on her face and she knelt there for a while, letting the waters rush over her hands and contemplating the merits and risks of taking a quick dip. In the end, she eyed her rapidly healing arm and decided a full bath would have to wait until tomorrow.

As Rose stood, she distinctly heard the sound of tires, an engine, and the slam of vehicle door. She crouched and headed towards a clearing, mindful to keep hidden among the undergrowth.

Through the bushes she saw an old Jeep... relatively speaking, as it was a model well beyond her lifetime but looked as though it had seen better days. The first man piled out of the driver's seat; from the mask that hung loosely around his neck she recognized him as Butch, the man who dragged Sarah away on the beach. From the other side of the vehicle she heard another unfamiliar male voice.

"Butch, what are you doing? We have to get back to base. The boss doesn't like it when oranges aren't fresh picked."

Rose thought she had misheard the voice that had spoken, sounding whinging and almost scared, like that of a child complaining while on a road trip.

She carefully crawled to the left, trying to get a view around the Jeep. Eric! That was Eric, the chef's assistant from the cruise. Ridgely had told her he had drowned before they reached shore.

Butch's harsh voice brought her attention back to the scene in front of her.

"Shut up, you little prick," he grumbled. "The boss won't care about oranges; we didn't come out here for oranges! He's gonna wanna go right for the melons in the back when we get back to base. I gotta drain the lizard. Stay here. Keep an eye on her."

Rose's heart jumped in her chest. Her mind spun in panic. Did he mean her? Her eyes darted to the open rear of the vehicle. She could just make out a female figure with a canvas bag over her head. Sarah!

She had no plan and no back up, but Rose had a golden opportunity to get Sarah back right now with minimal collateral damage. She had to take it. As Butch began to lumber away from the clearing, she wondered briefly if Eric was a captive too, but no, he was armed. They wouldn't trust him with a gun if he were merely a captive.

As if to confirm her thought, Eric hollered after Butch. "When the boss is done with her do think she can help us with the woman's work? You know, cleaning and all that?"

Butch stopped, looking back over his shoulder as he headed toward the underbrush. "Kid, when the boss is done with her, she won't be able to walk. Where the fuck do you think we are, a resort island?" He continued grumbling under his breath as he moved deeper into the forest.

With Butch gone, Eric was the one obstacle remaining between herself and Sarah. He had a handgun but overall seemed rather timid about his role as villain. Rose wondered distantly if he joined the raiders voluntarily or just in a last-ditch effort to survive. Her first instinct, born from her years by the Doctor's side, was to try and reason with him. If he really was coerced, she might be able to bring him back with her. And if not, she might at least be able to stall him long enough to come up with a better plan.

Rose stepped out of the underbrush slowly, purposefully rustling the branches around her to create noise indicating her approach. As predicted, Eric whipped around to face her direction, clumsily raising his pistol to chest-level. She crawled into his line of sight and stood up slowly with her hands in the air in a gesture of surrender. It probably should have unnerved her how comfortable she'd become with being at gunpoint.

"Rose," Eric blurted, somewhere between confused, relieved and crestfallen.

"Yeah," she murmured encouragingly, moving forward in small, careful steps. "Table seven with the Doctor, remember? Autumn salad, no pears."

He stepped backwards, keeping his gun trained on her but shaking his head frantically as his face contorted in distress. "You've gotta get out of here. They won't think twice; if they see you they'll kill you."

"I know," Rose assured him. "But I can't just let you take her either."

She gestured towards the back of the Jeep, stepping sideways, closer to the vehicle.

"Stop!" Eric clicked the safety off his firearm. "I don't want to shoot you, Rose. But I will have to. They'll kill me if I let you take her."

"Eric," she pleaded in soothing tones. "Let her go. You know this is wrong."

He swallowed purposefully. "I know… I know this is wrong, but… Look, I'm sorry. It's me or her, okay? I choose me."

Rose nodded to herself, lowering her head feigning defeat but instead taking a deep breath in readiness. "I'd choose me too."

Another small step forward, a plan taking shape shifted in her head. Eric shook his gun threateningly.

"I'm serious, Rose!" Eric advanced on her before she could alter her plan, spinning her forcefully away from the Jeep and digging the gun threateningly into her back. He pushed her back towards the trees where she'd entered the clearing. "Move!"

She pretended to relent. "Okay, okay. Look, I'm leaving."

She took a step forward and he followed, pulling the gun back just a fraction so she could no longer feel the muzzle pressing between her shoulder blades. Rose knew she needed the element of surprise to catch him off guard; it was the only way she could hope to incapacitate him.

Her heart pounded, fear rising up in her throat, but then she scrambled to remember a few of the self-defense lessons Jack had given her forever ago. Underneath his desperation to survive, Eric was a good person. She could use that to her advantage, force him into the role of protector rather than guard. Unwittingly, he had put himself just where she needed him.

Rose pretended to faint, going limp and falling backwards. With a surprised curse, Eric scrambled to catch her, dropping his pistol in the process - a rookie move that would cost him. Rose forced her body to stay still, dead weight in his arms for one tense moment. Then, without warning, she propelled her head forward from its resting place on his shoulder, head-butting Eric right in the jaw. Her forehead crashed into the place where his upper and lower jaw connected with a sickening crack.

Eric went down hard, falling around her before collapsing to the ground below. Rose's hands flew up to her head.

"Fuck—" she cursed between gritted teeth, trying to bite back the noise, but the expletive tore from her throat reflexively with the pain radiating through her skull.

She was lucky the blow connected where it did. Her head swam for a moment, vision blurring, and she dropped to her knees as a wave of dizziness crept up on her.

As bad a shape as she was in, beneath her she saw a trickle of blood leave Eric's mouth. She hoped she had just caused him to bite his cheek and not broken a tooth or caused other permanent damage.

"Sorry," she whispered regretfully.

Sparing a thought to how much time she had before Butch came back, Rose stood up on shaky legs, hopping up into the front passenger seat of the Jeep as quickly as she could. She leaned over the back of the seat, pulling the canvas bag from Sarah's head only to find… it wasn't Sarah. The girl beneath the hood was a little younger than Rose, darker skinned, and with long black hair. Rose guessed she was native to the island. The girl stared at Rose suspiciously but otherwise remained still; out of fear or instinct or probably both.

"You're free now," Rose told her quietly, wondering if the girl could even understand her. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Rose held her hands up slowly, repeating the supplicant gesture she used with Eric, and nodded her head indicating the ropes around the native girl's wrists and ankles. Her intentions seemed to be clear, because the girl nodded hesitantly in response. Resolved, Rose rounded the vehicle, opening the back door and going to work on the bindings around her legs. Just as the knot was coming loose, she heard Butch's approaching voice and footsteps from the woods.

Panicked, she managed to free the knot and the girl thankfully kicked her legs, allowing the rope to fall loose around her feet. With no time for her hands, Rose helped the girl down from the vehicle, pushing her along and telling her to "Run" in a hushed but commanding voice. The girl obeyed, but stopped right at the tree line, glancing back worriedly. Rose shook her head, about to call out to tell her just to go when she was grabbed roughly from behind.

"What's this?" Butch growled, turning Rose in his arms and smashing her back against the side of the Jeep. She yelped, the breath knocked out of her lungs. "Traded in a mutt for a Thoroughbred, eh?"

He leaned all of his weight forward, pinning her to the vehicle with a muscular arm pressing heavily just below her neck and a knee planted firmly between her legs. She struggled, testing his hold, but he just leaned in harder.

"Where's Sarah?" she spat when she had enough breath to speak.

He raised an eyebrow, his dirtied face the very picture of smug. "The other blonde bitch?" He leaned in close, his lips curving up into a sadistic smile and odorous breath blowing across her face. "Honey, she's the least of yer worries."

Rose grimaced: at the false endearment, his proximity and the stench of his breath all at once. She turned her head away towards his shoulder, trying to retreat into herself where she could search desperately in her own headspace for a plan. Instinctually, Rose shifted her body again, fighting against the feeling of being trapped. It seemed hopeless, but she'd try anything to break his hold.

Undeterred, Butch chuckled darkly. "Betcha think yer real brave taking out the weakest link, dontcha honey?" He looked down at Eric's unconscious body with disgust, pulling his shotgun from its holster with the hand not holding her.

"No!" She cried out - but it was too late.

Butch fired the shot, buckshot tearing through Eric's body as blood spattered around them. The acrid smell of gunpowder permeated the air. She turned her face away, squeezing her eyes shut and fighting off the tears that threatened to fall. She would not let Butch see her cry. He didn't deserve the satisfaction.

"Useless." He snarled at the ruined corpse, then turned his attention back to her. "Now that we're alone…"

Butch sheathed the shotgun into the holster on his back. Rose squirmed violently in an attempt to struggle, but as probably she should have expected, that only encouraged him. He laughed as his sidearm replaced the shotgun, the barrel of the pistol pressed snugly against Rose's temple. She heard the safety click off, the noise jarringly loud so close to her ear.

"…where were we?"

With the threat of the gun at her head, Butch was free to remove his weight-bearing arm from her neck. His hand moved down to start the process of disrobing her. His thick fingers found their way to the zipper pull on her jacket, dragging the garment open slowly. Though his actions were leisurely, the knee still situated between her legs and the pelvis angled heavily against her hip made his intentions clear.

Rose's good hand was fisted tightly at her side, nails digging painfully into her palm, keeping her attention sharp. Her injured hand snuck slowly in small incremental movements up the outside of her hip towards the knife at her waist. She probably couldn't get the drop on Butch with a gun pressed to her temple, but at least she could hurt him before he really hurt her.

Butch finally loosed her jacket with a throaty chuckle. The leather parted, revealing the vest top beneath. He leaned closer, trying to look down her shirt at her cleavage.

"Not the biggest tits I've had," he rumbled. "But they'll do."

With her head turned far to the right, Rose had unintentionally given him access to her neck. She grimaced as she felt hot breath puff against her skin there, recoiling into vehicle behind her as far as she could. He inhaled a long sniff of her hair before she felt chapped lips make contact beneath her ear. Rose could tell that Butch's full attention was no longer focused on the gun barrel pressed to her temple as she felt the pressure lessen.

He made a deep grunt and widened his stance to accommodate his excitement, the dirt scratching audibly beneath his boot. She realized the space that was created the moment his leg ceased to press between hers, even if Butch did not.

In a quick movement she brought her left knee up solidly into his crotch.

Butch let out a great puff of air like a deflated balloon. Stepping back a pace, he groaned, holding his wounded manhood with his left hand.

Rose tried to cease her own heavy breathing and still her whirling mind. Where was the rest of her plan? Her hand scrabbled mindlessly for the knife on her hip, but Butch was faster.

His free hand abandoned the injury for his own blade, a menacing looking survival knife. With a guttural growl he rushed her, arm outstretched for a wild swing. Rose prepared to dodge but he stopped short. Suddenly, Butch was cradling his left arm in the crook of his right elbow and wailing, the knife fallen from his hand and replaced by an arrow spearing right through flesh and bone.

Butch and Rose both turned, gazes flitting to find the source of the arrow. A part of her knew that her attention should remain on her immediate attacker, but the deep, primal part of her sought out the source of the saving blow. She locked eyes for the briefest moment with the intense stare of a young man, still holding his bow at the ready, with coloring matching the native girl; dark skin and black hair. His eyes were sharp and piercing, a hunter's eyes, and the raw anger in them lit a fire in her blood.

"Bitch," Butch was growling; he seemed unsure of where his fury should be directed. Bringing his attention back to her, he raised the pistol in his right hand, aimed, and formed a wicked smile, "You don't have to be alive for me to enjoy it."

Rose stilled, finally resigned to her fate. Her eyes closed reflexively, braced against the pain that was sure to come.

_Click._

Butch squeezed the trigger, but the magazine was empty. The firing pin fell on a spent primer and nothing happened.

Rose opened her eyes. She wouldn't get another chance.

Butch snarled, throwing away the pistol. She was already diving for the discarded knife on the ground between them. He bent but this time Rose was faster, already there grasping for the blade as if it were life itself. For her, it was.

Without looking, acting on blind instinct, she plunged the knife into his gut as far as it would go. Butch let out a terrible howl. Rose watched his eyes turn from disbelief to anger as he stared down at her.

Rose lifted her head to catch his eye and begged him to stop. She didn't need to kill him. She just wanted to survive. His movements were slow but determined as he tightened his fist, bringing it up and threatening to smash it down on her head like a hammer.

She closed her eyes, gritted her teeth, and with her hands still gripping the handle of the knife, she jerked it across his middle. Butch exhaled a pathetic, gurgling breath and slumped forward. Rose scuttled back quickly, but the force of him falling knocked her to the ground, legs trapped beneath his shoulders. Kicking frantically, she freed her feet from underneath his body just as blood was pooling on the ground beneath his body.

When she looked down, she found herself almost surprised to discover the blood. She stared wide-eyed at the thick, tacky substance covering her skin. Her blood-stained hands became a focal point as the rest of the world faded. A nauseating wave of disorientation hit leaving her lightheaded, as though it was her own blood soaking into the dirt below. Silence was replaced by a high-pitched ringing in her ears, and she began to hyperventilate. Her lungs burned as though the very air was poison. She was drowning. Drowning in the blood she'd spilt.

She heard Ridgely's voice in her head saying ' _Breathe. Breathe._ '

Later, on a dark and rainy night huddled under the rocky overhang at her base camp, she would wonder why it was Ridgely's voice she heard trying to comfort her and not the Doctor's.

Now, she doubled over, bloody hands fisting in the grass as she coughed and gagged, her stomach and lungs both protesting. She didn't retch, but she still felt the spasms rack her body as she fought to gain control. Finally, she closed her eyes and managed a few deep breaths without coughing.

With a shuddering sigh, Rose rested her back against the tire of the Jeep. She opened her eyes to see the thicket where she had seen the archer who saved her with his well-timed distraction, but he was gone. Rose forced herself up on wobbly legs, lumbering towards the spot as though driven by some unseen force. The underbrush was disturbed where he had stood, and when she got close enough, she learned why. The young man had left his bow, presumably for her to find. She grasped the weapon gratefully, scouting the quiet forest for any sign of its owner.

When a twig snapped behind her, she whipped around with a hand already at the knife on her belt, adrenaline quick to flood her veins again after struggling for her life. She deflated instantly when she saw Ridgely and Frank enter the clearing.

"What happened?" Frank asked. He took in the devastation of the clearing but Ridgely had already spotted her.

Rose let her legs carry her intuitively across the clearing and into Ridgely's arms. He gathered her in the comforting embrace just as he had the day of the massacre on the beach. She gasped and sobbed her relief but squeezed her eyes against the tears that threatened. Butch didn't deserve her tears. Ridgely simply stroked a hand up and down her back soothingly as she calmed.

Inhaling deeply, she pulled back. "They had a woman. I thought she was Sarah, but it was someone else. A girl from the island." Rose's eyes drifted over the bodies, and she shook her head numbly. "He killed Eric, but Butch - I…"

She hedged, unable to continue, and felt Ridgely's hand squeeze her shoulder. For the first time since her allies showed up, Rose looked to Frank. The young man had already peeled the jacket off Eric's body and was shuffling through the items in the back of the Jeep.

Rose furrowed her brow in confusion. "What are you— "

"Here." Frank tossed Rose the canvas sack that had been on the native girl's head. "I have an idea."


End file.
